Where are you Christmas?
by Twisted Ingenue
Summary: WEECHESTERS! Sam wants to have a merry Christmas. Unfortunately for Sammy, the Winchesters don't celebrate Christmas. Can Sam bring Christmas spirit back into Dean and John's hearts when they're acting like Grinches? Written before Christmas Special aired
1. We need a little Christmas

**A.N. Hey you all! I'm going to start on (I KNOW it's overused…but screw it) a Winchester Christmas Special and I'm going to try to write one ****chapter ****every day. Though, I may miss one because**** I'd rather have awesome chapters**** every other day than crappy, short ****chapters ****every day. So…bear with me. Also…ages…Sam is 7 and Dean is 11.**** You'll like it…very fluffy and with my signature Ingenue humor sprinkled in it.**

…

December 13th

_"Snap!"_

Little Sam Winchester had been pressing down too hard on the coloring paper with the forest green crayola crayon he'd been using. He'd severed the thin little crayon so greatly that it was only hanging together by a little piece of the fuzzy, thick green crayon paper that had formerly been coiled snugly around the wax stick.

Sam let out a frustrated groan and threw the bottom half of the broken crayon over his shoulder, deciding to continue coloring with the top half. He had to finish this coloring sheet for his first grade class. And he had to color perfectly inside the lines. Even at seven years old he was a perfectionist. He wouldn't compromise for a substandard opus.

On the paper was the outline of a very symmetrical Christmas tree with a large star on the top that was quite out of proportion with the tree. There were also little outlines of circles inside the tree to represent ornaments. Sam decided he wanted to color those red and blue. The star he would color yellow, of course. Maybe once he finished the ornaments and star, he'd draw purple tinsel on the tree.

After a few minutes of slowly making smooth, green strokes on the paper, he put down the green crayon. He had completed the green part of the tree.

Sam let out a sigh as he looked up at his surroundings. It was an upgrade from the usual one-star motels. An apartment. Albeit a drab, dank one with bleak, stark white walls, old, threadbare Berber carpeting, and grey, dusty furniture.

He was sitting in the living room at a small, fold-out card table…alone. So depressing, so dreary.

_"It shouldn't be like this_," Sam thought wistfully to himself.

In class that day he learned what homes were supposed to look like around December. A fire should be crackling in the fireplace with stockings hung above in neat little rows. Large red bows and wreaths of pinecones should adorn the house. There should be candles, electric little lights, snow falling outside, floor littered with Christmas crafts, the smell of cookies baking in the oven, Christmas music playing on the radio, and of course, a large, dazzling Christmas tree bedecked with tinsel, tiny lights, glass balls, fairies, angels, stars…

That's how houses around December _typically_ should look like. Unfortunately for Sam, the Winchesters were not a typical family. His father and his big brother, Dean were out of the house…not Christmas shopping, but browsing an occult store for crushed scarab beetles and bottled holy water. The Winchesters didn't celebrate Christmas.

Sam sighed forlornly and held up the picture of his incomplete drawing.

"You can be my Christmas tree," Sam whispered softly to his humble masterpiece.

Sam put down the paper and reached into his yellow cardboard crayola box, producing a slender, ruby red crayon. He began carefully filling in some of the little ornaments, making his strokes dark and even. Then, once he was satisfied with the red glass balls, he began coloring in the remaining ornaments with a cobalt blue shade that he had selected with care.

When he finished with the blue ornaments, all that was left was the big five-pointed star on top of the tree.

"I'm gonna make this one good," Sam said resolutely to himself, pulling out a glittery gold crayon. Though at first he had wanted a lemon yellow, he thought gold would be prettier.

And with that, Sam held the crayon like a warrior and embarked on his quest. His quest to make the best damn star a first grader has ever colored.

So Sam, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, began steadily drawing with the beautiful gold crayon, being very careful not to break it.

"Sammy! We're back!" The voice of his father, John Winchester, rang out as a door slammed behind him. There was the sound of two sets of feet on linoleum and then the resonance of scuffling on the Berber carpet in the living room.

"That store was freakin' awesome, Sam!" Dean exclaimed much louder than necessary. "Too bad you're still too much of a munchkin to be allowed in. It's ten and up!" Dean stuck out his tongue at Sam.

"Dean, be nice to your little brother!" John scolded his older son.

"But…"

"Shut it!" John then turned to Sam, voice softened slightly. "How was school today, son?"

"Probably stupid…as usual," Dean scoffed, popping the collar of his kid-sized leather jacket and running a hand through his hair that he had spiked up with gel.

"Dean, if you don't shut your little prepubescent mouth right now, I swear I'll never take you to the occult store until you're 17." John snapped.

"But I like the occ-…" Dean paused, screwing up his face in thought. "Oculars…Oculist…Oculus…"

"_Occult_," Sam piped in while putting the finishing touches on his star.

"Very good, Sammy," John remarked, impressed. "Looks like your seven year old brother is becoming smarter than you, Dean."

"Whatever," Dean snorted, hiding his humiliation of being outsmarted by a first grader. "He's just a know-it-all freak."

"School was super good today!" Sam announced, putting his name neatly on the bottom of his artwork. "We did lots of art stuff called "crafts" like makin' snowflakes, stickin' cotton together to make snowmen…I made a snowdemon…Mrs. Davis didn't like it, though, but all my friends said it was neat…"

"A snowdemon?" John chuckled. "Ol' Mrs. What's-her-name probably hasn't seen many of those."

"Mrs. _Davi__s," _Sam corrected John. Sam had always admired his teachers, especially Mrs. Davis who always made every day fun while teaching them something.

"Oh…Sammy?!" Dean leapt up in front of John and pulled something out of a black plastic bag that was gripped in his father's hand. "Look what I got at the freaky demon store!"

Before Sam could even think, Dean was waving a shriveled rooster head in front of his face. It was a disgusting thing with a twisted, blackened beak, a disfigured face that looked like melting wax, and freakish, reddish eyes that resembled raisins.

It was a frightening sight for even the toughest of seven year olds so naturally Sam let out a rather girly scream which made Dean begin slapping his knees, laughing like a loon.

"Ha ha! You're such a little girl!" Dean teased his horror-stricken little brother. "It's just a freakin' rooster head!"

"Dean!" John snatched the rooster away from Dean and stuck it back in the bag. "Just because you think you're all big and tough doesn't mean you need to be a jackass to your little brother."

"What's a jackass?" Sam inquired. His stunning green eyes were filled with curiosity as well as tears.

There was a short, but intense silence that made John realize what had slipped in front of his first grade son.

"Erm…" John twiddled his fingers. "That's…a very bad word…um…don't say it."

"Daaaaaaad!" Dean whined, pulling on the hem of John's heavy coat. "Can I have my rooster back now?"

"No!" John snapped viciously. Dean jumped back, alarmed. Once again John had recognized he'd made a mistake. He'd lost his temper. So, he took a deep breath and started again,

"Not until you apologize to your brother. Once you give a nice, good apology…you can have the rooster head back." John looked sternly at Dean.

Dean lowered his head. "Yes sir,"

"Alright then," John turned around and plopped down on one of the grey couches, turning on the television. "Go ahead."

Sam was still shaking slightly once Dean had turned to face him. He was holding a trembling violet-colored crayon in his hand. He'd decided to add the purple tinsel after all.

Dean sighed. Though he wouldn't admit it, his brother was pretty cute sometimes. "Sammy?"

"Y-Yeah?" Sam looked up, gently putting down his crayon.

"I'm…sorry," Dean looked down at his shoes. "I just was playing a joke."

Sam gazed at Dean, his brother, and clandestinely his idol, with hope in his face. "Really?"

"Really," Dean nodded.

"Your…apol-…" Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to say the word. "_Apology_ acc-…_accepted_." Sam beamed at his knowledge of so many big words.

"Smartass," Dean mumbled.

"Watch your mouth!" John shouted from the sofa.

"Yes sir," Dean pouted a little. Then he began looking for dirt under his fingernails. They were in desperate need of scrubbing like most eleven year old boys' are.

Dean let out a bored yawn and sat down on the chair across from Sam at the card table. Sam was still hard at work, perfecting the tinsel.

"Done!" Sam had on a toothy grin as he held up his paper. "Look at it, Dean! Look what I drew!"

Dean grudgingly took the paper and looked down at the drawing. It was pretty good for a first grader's work. When Dean was in first grade he never colored in the lines. He always did his _own_ thing.

"It's a Christmas tree," Dean said in monotone.

"It's pretty isn't it?" Sam was ravenous for Dean's appraisal. "Just like Christmas is, right?"

"Sammy, Christmas is stupid," Dean threw the drawing back at Sam. "So is this stupid tree."

"What?" Sam was crestfallen.

"Christmas is stupid," Dean repeated. "There is no stupid Jesus so there is no stupid day for him to be born on."

"What?" Sam said again, this time his voice was cracked and tears were welling up in his eyes. "But Christmas is…"

"To hell with Christmas!" Dean yelled.

This was too much for Sam. Did his big brother, the one he'd looked up to since he was born, really think Christmas was _stupid_? How could Dean ever think such a lovely, enjoyable thing as Christmas was _stupid_? Was this actually happening to him? Would he never wake up on December 25th with a stocking full of toys and presents under a Christmas tree? Would Dean, his dad, and he ever sing "Frosty the Snowman" and roast chestnuts over a fire?

All at once, tears were streaming down Sam's soft, ivory cheeks and he began sobbing and gasping like…like the child he was.

Immediately, John came to the rescue and rushed to Sam's side. He knelt down beside his weeping son and embraced him tightly.

"Dean!" John was exasperated at his elder child.

"I didn't do nothin'!" Dean held up his hands. "I swear,"

"Nothin' my ass," John snorted, not minding his language at all. He returned to his child in distress. "Why're you cryin' like that, Sammy?"

Sam let out a choked gasp. "Dad…is…is…Christmas really…stupid?" Sam began to wail.

John went silent for a minute. He actually _did_ think Christmas was frivolous and unnecessary…but he had to say anything to get his son to stop crying. "Of course not, Sammy."

"But Dad…" Dean started.

"Hush!" John shushed Dean.

"Then…" Sam sniffed. "Why…don't we…have a…Christmas tree?"

"Um…" John bit his lip. "Well…"

"Or stockings…" Sam hiccupped. "Or…Christmas…dec-dec…decor-…"

"Decorations?" John tried to figure out what his son was trying to say.

"Yeah…those…" Sam looked up at his father. His eyes were red, puffy, and full of misery. "Why don't…we have Christmas?"

"Er…"

"Why not, Daddy?" Sam was looking a little more curious than upset now.

"Well…because…" John was almost babbling. "I don't know, son…"

"Could we have Christmas this year?" Sam's face lit up and his irresistible green eyes began sparkling with hope. "Oh, that would be the most greatest ever!'

_"Oh no!" _John thought. _"Not the puppy-dog eyes!"_

"Well…" John looked over at Dean, who shrugged in response,

"I don't care. _You_ were the one that told _me_ Christmas was stupid. I was just copyin' you."

"Please, Daddy!" Sam's lower lip stuck out slightly. "I want to have a Christmas."

John caved in. Sam had won. "Okay Sammy," John took a deep breath. "This year…we'll celebrate Christmas."


	2. Give Rudolph a chance

December 14th

John was massaging his temples in frustration, thinking to himself,

_"How the hell did I get myself into this?"_

John was a Christian once and Christmas was his favorite holiday. When December came around, he'd be glowing with Christmas spirit, jumping around everywhere, writing letters to St. Nick, helping his mom put gumdrop buttons on her homemade gingerbread men…

But when the demons came lurking from out of the shadows and took his beloved Mary from him, he steadily lost faith in a God. When he had to live in constant fear of his sons being devoured, burned, ripped apart…when he had to sleep through vivid, horrific nightmares instead of dreams of sugarplums...Christmas became an irritating nuisance. Christmas was a waste of time. And as Dean put it…_Christmas was stupid_.

"Daddy! Look at what I made!"

John's train of thought was broken by his seven year old son's cheery voice.

"What did you make, son?"John asked wearily. Sam had been making Christmas crafts at school all day and he'd been showing John some new corny decoration every minute since he'd arrived home.

"Look at the snowflakes!" Sam grabbed his father's hand and pulled him off the couch.

John looked up, trying not to groan at the sight of paper snowflakes stuck on the windows with scotch tape.

"That's very nice, Sammy," John had a stretched smile on his face. This was such a waste of time. He should be exorcising a demon out of someone or ridding a town of a vampire.

"And Daddy…do you like my pinecone reeds?!" Sam pointed at several pinecone wreaths hanging on the walls.

"_Wreaths_ you retard," Dean shouted from the kitchen. "Not _reeds._"

"Don't call your brother a retard," John scolded his elder son halfheartedly. Furtively though, John agreed with Dean. Sam _was_ being a retard with all this Christmas nonsense. He only didn't say so because he didn't want to see Sam cry again.

"Whatever," Dean called back, his voice thickly coated with irritation.

"Oh, Dean!" Sam trotted into the nearby kitchen and dragged Dean out. "You're not in the Christmas spirit!"

"It's a little hard to be "in the spirit" when you're putting macaroni Christmas angels all over our room." Dean growled.

"You're so funny, Dean!" Sam latched onto his big brother's middle and hugged him tightly. It was very cute since Sam was so much shorter than Dean that only went up to Dean's mid-torso. "I love you!" Sam stood on his "tippy-toes" and kissed Dean on the cheek.

"Eww!" Dean pried Sam off and rubbed his cheek, trying to wipe away the kiss. "Gross!"

John laughed heartily for the first time that day, but immediately shut his mouth when Dean gave him a nasty glare.

"Dean!" Sam pouted. "Christmas is fun!"

"You can just stick your _Christmas_ up your little…"

"Hey!" John clamped a hand over Dean's mouth. "Where'd you learn those potty words?" John moved his hand away.

"Umm…you," Dean crossed his arms and looked at his dad pointedly.

"Stick it up my _what_?" Sam's eyes were glimmering with innocence.

"Nose," John said flatly before Dean could butt in.

"Oh," Sam nodded, as if he understood. "Okay."

_"That was a close one,"_ John thought to himself.

"Hey, Dad?" Sam was smiling again. "Can we light a fire?"

"Why?" John looked puzzled. "We don't even have a…"

Sam practically _pranced _over to the side of the living room and pulled down a large, tri-fold poster board. A small, slightly pathetic fireplace was revealed.

"There's no firewood," John pointed out.

"Then let's go get some!" Sam suggested eagerly. "And we can also buy some marshmallows, chess-nuts…"

"Chestnuts?"John quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Sam blushed, irritated by his own childish misunderstanding. "And I want to get some popcorn and little eclectic lights…"

"Electric light?" John tried not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

"Uh-huh," Sam nodded. _"Electric _lights…and stuff to make cookies, candles, holly, mis-…" Sam paused. "Now what was that stuff again?"

"What stuff?" Dean had joined the conversation.

"It's those leaves that make you kiss if you stand under them." Sam said knowledgably.

"Mistletoe?" John guessed.

"Yeah!" Sam beamed at his father. "Mistletoe! We'll need some of that! Oh…and we should get a Christmas tree, of course…"

"Sam?" John was growing annoyed and weary of Sam's antics. "Is this…really necessary?"

Sam's look of joy immediately turned into one of dejection. "I thought you said we could have Christmas…"

_"Crap! He's being cute again!" _John thought to himself.

"Son," John took a deep breath. "I think this teacher is…maybe…an unrealistic view of things. Not everyone celebrates Christmas. Why, some people celebrate Hanukah…or Kwanzaa…"

"But how come we don't celebrate _anything_?!" Sam whined. "All we do is move around, learn about stinky old demons, and be sad. It's not fair!"

"Well, you know what, Sam?" John's temper started to rise. "Life's not fair! I don't even know why I _considered _this whole _Christmas _nonsense!"

"But, Daddy…" Sam's chin quivered.

"No, Sammy!" John snapped. "I can't do it! Do you even know what Christmas is really about?"

"Santa Claus?" Sam guessed.

"No," John's voice softened. "It's about Jesus…about God's son being born on earth to bring "peace" and "goodwill" to all. Well, you know what?" John's pitch got louder again. "If this Jesus kid really did come on the earth to make things right…he did a pretty shitty job!"

"Dad?" Dean, sensing his father's pain, rushed to John's side.

"Sammy?" John looked his youngest son in the eye. "How can you believe that there's a God when you know there are things like demons out there? How can you even think that there's a possibility of peace and love when your mother was…" John trailed off and went silent. Hurt filled his eyes but he wouldn't allow a single tear to fall.

"Daddy," Sam went to his father and hugged him tightly. Then, all three Winchesters participated in a rare group hug. Once they had finished, Sam spoke again, this time with a soft, timid voice,

"We don't have to have a Christmas if you don't want to,"

"Okay Sammy," John nodded shakily.

"But…I wanna say one thing, though," Sam stood up straight. "Though there are icky things in the world…there are some nice things too. Like…finger-paint, hamsters, good storybooks, friends, family...lots of nice things. That's what Mrs. Davis told us Christmas is about. Bein' thankful for what we've got…not wishing that we had what we've don't got. "

Both John and Dean went silent, pondering what little Sammy had come out with. Finally, Dean shattered the silence (as usual),

"Sam's right," Dean took his little brother's hand, obviously making Sam feel like a million dollars. "I mean…I still think Christmas is kinda dumb…but…if it means this much to Sammy…" Dean looked down at his wide-eyed little brother. "I think we should do it."

John now had both of his sons up against him. How could he win? "Alright…you win."

"Thank you, Daddy!" Sam went away from Dean and embraced John. "Thank you!"

"What should we do first?" John's voice was so unenthusiastic that it seemed he wanted Sam to say "To shoot ourselves in the head!"

But instead of coming out with that, Sam said,

"Firewood and Christmas cookies!"

…

(A few hours later)

"Jingle bells, Jingle bells! Jingle all the way! Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse soapin' sleigh…"

"Sam!" Dean snapped. "No. More. Singing."

Sam and Dean were in the kitchen, waiting for the gingerbread men in the oven to be done. Now they were color coding gumdrops (Sam's request) to use as buttons. John was in the living room (in which a fire was roaring in the fireplace) watching the news to drown out the sound of blaring Christmas music on the radio. Unfortunately, the weather report wasn't loud enough to block out the sound of Sam singing.

"But…" Sam tried to speak.

"But nothing," Dean cut him off. "And what the hell is a "one-horse soapin' sleigh"?"

"A one-horse _open_ sleigh!" John groaned loudly from the living room.

"But I thought…"

"Well…you thought wrong, Sammy," Dean threw a red gumdrop in the red pile.

Sam looked down, hiding the hurt in his eyes. Though, he could hide nothing from Dean.

"Hey, Sammy? Ya know I didn't mean it, right? I'm real sorry for bein' so mean." Dean looked down sheepishly and popped a yellow gumdrop in his mouth.

"That's o-…hey!" Sam crossed his arms and scowled. "Are you eating the gumdrops?"

"Huh?" Dean stopped mid-chew and swallowed the delicious, lemon flavored sweetie. "I'm not…"

"Yes you were!" Sam accused.

"Was not!"

"Was so!"

"Was not!"

"Was so!"

"Fine, then!" Dean held up his hands in defeat. "I ate one stupid gumdrop."

Sam paused for a moment before turning around and huffing angrily,

"Well I'm mad at you,"

"What?" Dean was flabbergasted. "But…"

"I don't like you anymore,"

"But, Sammy…"

"I mean it!" Sam put on a bratty, pouty voice. Fortunately for him, he was turned around so Dean couldn't see the wide, sly smirk on his face.

"Don't be mad at me, Sammy!" Dean hated getting Sam mad. Though it wasn't a hard thing to accomplish, everyone managed to feel bad if Sam was mad. "Please!"

"Well…" Sam pretended to be thinking, "I'll forgive you if you do one thing."

"Name it," Dean smiled.

"Sing a Christmas song with me."

"Do _what?!" _Dean was incredulous. "No way! That's for girls!"

"Okay," Sam had on a taunting voice. "Then I'll never love you again. And you can't have a single gingerbread man!"

"But I want one!" Dean whined.

"Too bad," Sam stomped his foot. "I did most of the work so I get em' all, anyways…unless…"

"Fine!" Dean was defeated. "As long as you don't tell any of my friends. They'll call me queer."

"Yay!" Sam clapped his hands together. "Let's sing…"

"Something by Metallica?" Dean asked hopefully.

"No," Sam frowned. "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer."

"That's a dumb song," Dean snorted. "It's for babies."

"Well…" Sam twirled a lock of his hair. "I'm still kinda mad at you…"

"_You know Dasher and Dancer and __Prancer__ and Vixen!" _Dean sang rapidly, with a stretched smile on his face.

"_Comet and Cupid and Donner and __Blitzen__!"_Sam was beaming with happiness and they sang in unison,

_"But do you recall…the most famous reindeer of all?_

_Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer…had a very shiny nose…"_

_"And if you ever saw it," _John stepped into the kitchen, singing timidly. "_You would even say it glowed."_

_"All of the other reindeer…"_ Sam started, hoping for his dad to finish.

"_Used to laugh and call him names," _John smiled as the trio sang,

"_They never let poor Rudolph…join in any reindeer games!"_

They all sang together, tentative at first but then getting louder and happier. Finally, they all sang together, John singing the harmony,

"_You'll go down in his…tor…__ry__!!!!!"_


	3. Dear Santa

December 15th

It was a freezing cold, yet snowless Saturday. But Dean only was aware of that fact when he placed his hand on the chilly windowpane…on an area without paper snowflakes.

Dean couldn't feel the cold at all due to the warmth of the apartment. There was a hot, blazing fire in the fireplace (which Sam had bordered in holly) and electric candles in the window giving the apartment a soft, cheery glow.

John was out of the house, hunting for a Christmas tree and string lights just to shut Sam up. He also might've been finding a good, steep cliff that he could jump off of.

So, Sam and Dean were in the apartment alone, which wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Dean was sitting by the window, writing curse words with his finger on the foggy window, while Sam was sprawled out by the hearth, the firelight reflecting off of his dark hair. He was writing something with a candy-cane looking pencil on green, Christmas stationary, erasing regularly, and in deep concentration. Both boys were silent. The only sounds that could be heard were the scratching of a pencil, the squeaking sound of a finger rubbing on wet glass, and Bing Crosby singing "Silent Night" on the radio.

Eventually, Dean started to become curious about what Sam was doing. It was his ADD. He couldn't stay focused on one thing (particularly a dull one) for too long. So, Dean stood up from the window seat and plopped down beside Sam on the floor, sitting "crisscross-applesauce" for once in his life.

"Whatcha doin', Sammy?" Dean inquired, peering over at Sam's project.

"Oh!" Sam turned his head around, smiling sweetly at his big brother. "I'm writing my letter to Santa!"

"You're doing _what_?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "I know it may be a little late. But I _think _it might get to the North Pole in time."

Dean was gaping for a moment in disbelief. Was his little brother really being such an idiot? He'd always thought all Winchesters were realists.

"Sammy," Dean looked at his little brother with exasperation in his olive-green eyes. "You know there's no such thing as…" Sam's smile began to curve into a frown and his hopeful, expectant eyes began to dull. It broke Dean's heart to see Sam so sad. "Never mind. Umm…what are you exactly supposed to say to Santa, anyways?"

Sam's face lit up and he situated himself closer to Dean. "You mean…you don't know?" Dean shook his head. "Well…most kids tell Santa what they want for Christmas."

"Why?" Dean was puzzled.

"Because on Christmas Eve, Santa comes with a big bag of toys and gets on his sleigh with a bunch of reindeer and he gives the toys to kids all around the world." Sam explained fervently. "And giving him a letter helps him know what you want him to bring you. I'm sendin' it to the North Pole…to his _workshop_ where all his elves help him make the toys!"

This was by far the most ridiculous thing Dean had ever heard in his young life. And that was saying something. His father was a _demon hunter_ for Pete's sake!

"Err…is that where that song "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" comes from?" Dean asked. He knew the song only because he'd heard people singing it, not because he understood it.

"Yep!" Sam smiled. "Rudolph leads the sleigh on foggy nights cuz' his nose-light is so bright that it helps Santa see his way."

Dean shook his head, trying to stop himself from saying anything nasty that would hurt Sam's feelings. "So…" Dean tried to sort of change the subject. "What are you askin' him for?"

Sam began to frown. "Well…here's what I wrote so far…" Sam sat up, cleared his throat, and started to read,

_"Dear Santa,_

_How are you doing? I hope the elves and the reindeer are doing well. Is Mrs. Claus helping you get a nice big belly for Christmas Eve? _

_I know you've never heard from me before. I've never had Christmas until this year. But I'll tell you that I like it fine! And…I know you know my name because you know everything, but I want to be polite. My name is Sam Winchester and I'm seven years old._

_Now, I'll bet you'll __be wanting__ a Christmas list from me. To tell you the truth (because I always tell the truth because I know lying is bad) I__…"_

Sam stopped. "That's all I have."

Dean was surprised. If he were seven and believed some fat guy would give him presents, he'd be asking for everything. A super-soaker, a race-car, Betty Morrison (a pretty girl in his class), etc.

"Do you not know what you want?" Dean asked, curious.

"Well…I know what I want…" Sam bit his lip. "But I'm scared to ask."

"Why?" Dean put an arm around Sam's shoulder.

"Well…" Sam started. "I want three things. And I know he can't give me one."

"What are they?" Dean questioned kindly.

Sam took a deep breath. "Well…the first one…I know he can't give it to me." Sam looked down. "I want a mommy."

Dean was silent for a minute, but took Sam's hand and squeezed it tighter, feeling the blood coursing through his brother's veins. His blood. Their blood. Dean understood what it was like to want a mother. Even in fifth grade he wished that he had a mom to tell him to wash up for dinner, to brush his teeth, to clean behind his ears. He wanted a mother to tell him not to run to fast, to change his socks, to do motherly, gentle things. He never had it and he never would.

"What are the other two things, Sammy?" Dean asked softly.

Sam blushed. "The second one is to grow up and be just like you."

Dean felt his cheeks burn from the flattery of it all and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "And the last one?"

"For all of us…you, me, and Dad…to be together forever." Sam said wistfully.

"That's really…" Dean paused. "That's really sweet, Sammy."

"Oh!" Sam slapped his forehead. "I forgot something!"

"What?" Dean prepared himself for another heart wrenching wish.

"I want a super-cool art kit with a bazillions of colors of crayons and finger-paint and pastels and colored pencils and markers and glitter glue and water-color paint with gazillions of different kinds of paintbrushes and…"

Dean clamped a hand over Sam's mouth. "Yeah…why don't you tell him that?"

Sam pulled Dean's hand away. "Well aren't _you_ gonna write a letter to Santa?"

"Oh, c'mon, Sam!" Dean groaned. "I'm in _fifth _grade. I'm too old for that kind of stuff."

"But, Dean!" Sam gasped. "Do you want to get a…?" Sam lowered his voice to a whisper, as if about to say a naughty word. "…_lump of coal_?"

"What?"

"Santa gives bad boys and girls coal for Christmas," Sam stated knowledgably.

"Really?!" For a minute, Dean forgot that he didn't believe in Santa Claus. "Do you have any paper?"

"Yeah," Sam pulled out a piece of stationary with little elves on the border. "And here's a pen!" Sam handed Dean a sparkly green pen.

"Where'd you get all this stuff?" Dean asked, examining the writing utensils and paper.

"Mrs. Davis," Sam said. "She has a Christmas Prize Box and whenever we're good or we answer some hard question right, she lets us get something out of there."

"And let me guess…little Einstein pretty much owns the Christmas Prize Box," Dean rolled his eyes.

"Write your letter, Dean!" Sam wagged his finger at Dean. "And be nice or you'll get a nice, big lump of coal!"

"Fine," Dean began scribbling rapidly on the paper, finishing in about two minutes. "Done!"

"Really?" Sam was writing "Love, Sam" very neatly at the bottom of his own letter. "Read it!"

Dean picked up the letter and began reading,

"_Heya__ Santa!_

_How's everything going in the South Pole?"_

"The _North _Pole," Sam corrected.

Dean grumbled and scratched "South" out with his pen and put "North" in its place. He continued reading,

_"I've been pretty good this year…except for when I called the teacher a fat whore. But I apologized and I'm really sorry about it._

_For Christmas this year, I'd like a new leather jacket. Mine is getting too small. Also…I wish for world peace and happiness._

_Love,_

_Dean"_

"You wished for world peace?" Sam looked quizzically at him. "I should add that!" Sam picked up his own letter and added a neat postscript.

"So…" Dean started. "How do we mail these?"

…


	4. Cars

December 16th

"Plug it in, Dad!"

John Winchester's hands were raw from the prickly pine needles and his palms were sticky with sweet smelling sap.

_"All this for a stupid tree?!"_John thought bitterly to himself.

"Dad!" Sam called out again, tugging at the sleeve of his father's turtleneck. "Plug it in!"

"Keep your pants on, Sammy," John sighed wearily. "I need to…fix this," John was untangling a section on the unlit string of lights from a branch on the tree. The electric cord had wrapped itself around the largest branch, making the Christmas tree tilt slightly to the left. John grunted with satisfaction as he freed the section of the cable from the limb and the tree stood upright. "Okay…" John said unenthusiastically. "You ready?"

"Yeah!"

Sam and John whipped around. It wasn't Sam who cried out with joy. To John's utter disbelief, it was _Dean_ who spoke!

"Er…" Dean blushed, hitching up his too-small leather jacket. "I mean…go ahead."

Sam was grinning from ear to ear. "Dean? Are you happy too?"

"_No_, I'm not happy 'bout nothin'," Dean grumbled. Sam was still smiling, not fooled. "Whatcha lookin' at, Coconut-head?"

Sam looked at Dean a little while longer, his green eyes gleaming slyly. Then, he fixed his gaze upon his father. "You ready?"

John picked up the green plug and headed over to the outlet, preparing to stick the little prongs into the slits.

"Wait!" Sam shouted, holding up his hands. "We should count down!"

Dean and John groaned.

"Whatever," Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yay!" Sam clapped his hands together. "Ready, Dean?"

"Yep," Dean sighed.

Sam grabbed Dean's hand as they counted together,

"Five…four…three…two…ONE!"

John jammed the plug into the socket right on cue and tiny, colored lights seemed to spring out of nowhere, bringing life to the Christmas tree. The little lights twinkled and danced like rainbow stars. The sight of the tree was so beautiful and majestic that even Dean gasped in awe.

But the sight of little Sammy was so picturesque that it belonged on a Christmas card. His eyes were glimmering from the dazzling sparkle of the tree and his cheeks were rosy with delight. But the smile that graced across his face was like a contagious disease. If anyone even got a glimpse of it, they would almost instantaneously have a smile so wide on their own face that it would make their dimples feel numb.

"It's…" Dean swallowed. "It's _kinda _cool."

John moved to Dean's side and looked up at the Christmas tree, remembering his last Christmas tree…

**(Flashback)**

_"John?" Mary Winchester kissed her husband gently on the cheek as they gazed up at the Christmas tree. "Do you think it's beautiful?"_

_John looked up at a little paper racecar ornament hanging on the tree. "Is that Dean's?"_

_"Yep," Mary nodded. __"Made it at preschool yesterday."_

_"__Will he ever get over this__ car phase, Mary?" John chuckled._

_"Car!"__ Little three-year old Dean waddled over, wearing blue footie pajamas with different trucks printed all over them. _

_"Good, Dean!" Mary lifted up Dean with some difficulty._

_"Mary…" John warned, gesturing at Mary's stomach. A bulge was forming on her belly. Mary was expecting. "You need to be more careful," John took Dean into his own arms._

_"Daddy!"__ Dean shouted, kissing on the nose. __"Pretty twee!"_

_"That's right," John chortled. "It is a pretty tree."_

_"Car!"__ Dean pointed at the crudely made car ornament. _

_"Did you make that?" John asked, acting overly-impressed._

_"I make," Dean nodded. __"For __Cwissmiss__ twee!"_

_"For the __Cwissmiss__ twee," Mary laughed cheerfully. She stopped, wistfully rubbing her belly. "John…I can't wait to have another one…"_

**(Off flashback)**

"Daddy? Why are you sad?" Sam asked, moving over to his father.

"Sad?" John had just surfaced from his ocean of memories.

"You have sad-water," Sam went up on his tip-toes and brushed away a tear on John's cheek. Sam studied the tear that clung briefly on his finger before plummeting to the floor.

"Don't worry, Sammy," John forced a smile. "How 'bout we decorate this tree, now?"

Sam wore a concerned look that contained so much worldly-wisdom that it seemed impossible that such an expression could be etched on the face of a seven year old. "But we need to be happy when we trim the tree."

"Well…you all can be little girls and decorate the tree," Dean snorted. "But _I'm _gonna be a man," Dean plopped onto the couch.

"Deeeaaaan!" Sam whined.

"No, Sammy…I don't wanna." Dean moaned in his "fifth-graderish" way.

Sam huffed in annoyance and jumped on top of his brother.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, trying to shove Sam off. "Get off!"

But Sam didn't back off. Instead he started tickling Dean's ribcage (his most ticklish spot).

"Ack!" Dean cried, cringing back in horror. "Don't…Sam…no!"

Sam didn't back down, instead he tickled Dean with more vehemence than before. "Help with the Christmas tree and I'll stop!"

"No…I…can't…" Dean hollered in between tortured laughs. "Please…I…okay! Okay! Please…I'll do it! I'LL DO IT FOR CRYIN' OUT LOUD!"

Sam ceased the "torture" and pulled Dean off the couch. "Dad? You have the ornaments?"

John sighed and pulled out a store-bought box of cheap glass ornaments (purchased the day before).

"Don't forget mine!" Sam hopped over by the fireplace and pulled out a plastic tub filled with his homemade ornaments.

"What do we do now?" Dean yawned.

"Hang them on the branches," Sam informed him, digging through his tub and pulling out a little black paper car attached to a hook made out of twine. "I'll let you hang the first one, Dad."

John froze as he saw Sam's craft. "Is that…?"

"It's _your_ car, Dad!" Sam beamed. "See…its black like yours!"

John swallowed, containing his emotion. "I'm fine…you or Dean can hang it."

"Here," Sam held the ornament out to his older brother. "You can do it."

"Sweet," Dean examined the ornament. "For a munchkin twerp, you really have good taste."

"You've…" John's voice was slightly cracked. "You've always liked cars, Dean."

Dean looked at his dad quizzically, but hung the car on the highest bough he could reach. This earned an enthusiastic applause from Sam.

"So pretty," Sam remarked.

"It is," John nodded shakily. "So…you ready to… to get down to business?"


	5. It feels good, doesn't it?

**A.N.**** I'm sorry for the short delay, you all! I was entertaining family. But…since **_**I**_** skipped a day of writing this…I have to skip a day in this story, if you didn't notice. Oh…and thanks to all my reviewers! (****in**** the next chapter I will recognize the reviewers I appreciate the most by name) Anyways…enjoy and Happy Holidays!**

…

December 18th

School had let out all the kids for the holiday break that day. Now, normally, that would make Dean start whooping with ecstasy. He hated going to school. To him, it was a massive waste of time.

But instead of cheering and jumping around with joy, Dean was frantically running as fast as his smallish, preteen feet could carry him to the apartment.

He couldn't even feel the nipping chill of the winter air as he sped down the sidewalks; even though he was wearing only a pair of jeans and a leather jacket.

Even though his nose and the tips of his ears were burgundy from the cold, Dean couldn't feel it. All he could feel was his heart slamming against his chest and his ears pounding with the sound of his own thoughts…

_"Where's Sammy?!"_

When Dean walked out of the fifth grade trailer, Sam was always supposed to be waiting for him by the benches. And that day, when Dean sprinted out of the prison-like classroom, Sam was nowhere to be found.

Immediately, Dean panicked. It was _his_ job to keep track of Sam and take care of him. No one really had to tell Dean, but still, everyone did.

_"This is your baby brother, Dean. He's yours to love and take care of." _ The voice of his mother echoed in his head.

Even though he was only four at the time, he remembered Sam's birth vividly. He remembered the first time his mom let him hold his new baby brother, he remembered how hard he tried not to smile when baby Sam fell asleep in his arms, he remembered when his dad let him give baby Sam a warm bottle of milk, and he remembered when Sam's little, chubby fingers enclosed around his thumb. He remembered what it first felt like to be a _big brother_.

_"Take care of Sammy, Dean," _his father would remind him every day before he and Sam would go off to school all by themselves.

_"I can't let Mom, Dad, __**and**__ Sammy down," _Dean had thought to himself when he finished frenetically searching the entire school grounds in vain…finding no trace of his baby brother.

That's why Dean was running home. Though he was terrified of his father's reaction when he informed him that Sam had gone missing, Sam's safety was the first priority…and if he had indeed been taken by someone…or some_thing_…John Winchester was without a doubt the best man for the job.

Dean reached the apartment building, not even pausing for breath as he shot up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time as his electric blue, plastic book bag bounced up and down on his back.

Dean screeched to a halt as he reached his apartment door and began banging on the door. It was rather hard on his knuckles since they were so raw from the cold.

"DAD! PLEASE! OPEN UP!"

Dean heard the sound of someone rushing to the door and with due speed, the door swung open to reveal John Winchester. Concern was etched in his face.

"Dean?! What's wrong?!" there was a definite note of fear in his voice.

"Dad…" Dean was breathless and his freckled cheeks were ruddy from exertion. "Sammy…is…"

"What?!" John pulled his elder son into the apartment, closing the door behind him. "What about Sammy?! Spit it out, Dean!"

"Can't..." Dean took a deep breath, blinking back the bitter tears that swam in the corners of his eyes. His dad was _disappointed _in him. "I can't find Sammy anywhere!"

All color drained from John's face and the look of concern in his eyes had transformed into one of dread. "You looked all over the school?" John's voice was very soft, as if he couldn't manage any louder.

Dean nodded slowly as a tear squeezed itself out of his eye and slid steadily down his cheek, clinging onto the underside of his jaw line. "Do you think that…that a de-…?"

"Don't even say that!" John hissed, gripping his son's shoulder. "C'mon…we'll…we'll think of something."

John led Dean into the festively decorated living room. The tree was standing there in all its glory with Sam's handmade ornaments dangling on their own little branches. The fire was lit and the radio was playing Michael Jackson's version of "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town".

John slammed the black, bulky radio with his fist. The high-pitched, childish voice of Michael Jackson was cut off.

"This is exactly the thing I've been trying to avoid!" John growled. "Now those damn demon bastards might've taken Sam and are using him as damn bait!"

Dean gasped, though used to his father's language (where else would he get it from?), he was unaccustomed to his father saying something so scary…like the possibility of Sam being taken by a demon and being used as bait. Dean had to sit on the couch…his head was feeling dizzy.

"Would…?" Dean gulped. "Would that really happen, Dad?"

"Who knows, Dean?" John sighed, moving over to the couch and sitting down next to his eldest son. Unlike with Sam, John always felt more comfortable talking to Dean. He felt like Dean was strong enough to accept the truth. "I hope not…but we never know."

"But…" Dean was trying desperately to be brave, though it wasn't easy. He was only eleven, after all. "It'll be all my fault if those stupid…" Dean made a face, as if trying to remember something."I mean… if those _damn demon bastards_…hurt Sammy. It'll…be all my fault."

"No it won't, Dean," John said firmly. "You were in class when this happened, right?" Dean nodded. "It couldn't possibly be your fault."

"But takin' care of Sammy…" another tear trickled down Dean's cheek. "Comes _before_ dumbo school. If he's dead…"

"He's not dead," John reassured his eldest son, though not entirely believing the words that he said.

"I…" Dean's chin quivered as another tear fell. "I never told him that…that I loved him…"

"Daddy! Dean! I'm home!"

Dean and John sprung up from the couch at the distinct sound of the chirpy, almost babyish voice of _Sam_.

Both sprinted over to the entrance to see an alive, unharmed, and happy Sam standing there.

"Hiya!" Sam greeted his family, taking off his puffy, lime green coat and hanging a black scarf and hat on the coat hanger.

"Sammy, goddamn it!" John went over to his youngest son and hugged him fiercely, as if he'd never let go. He even lifted Sam into the air to press him up against his chest. "Never…" John roughly kissed Sam repeatedly on the top of his head."Never…_ever_…run off like that…again."

"I love you too, Daddy!" Sam hugged his dad's neck and kissed his stubbly cheek, pleasantly surprised by his father's physical displays of affection.

John put Sam down beside Dean, too relieved to scold. "Dean…what was it you wanted to tell your brother."

Dean gripped his little brother's shoulders violently and turned him around so that they were looking at each other face to face. "We thought you'd been freakin' eaten by a demon! You stupid little bitch! You had me worried sick!" It was almost amusing to see these words coming out of the mouth of an eleven year old.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam frowned, kissing his brother lightly on the lips. "I didn't mean to make you sad. I see you've been cryin'…"

"Crying?!" Dean exclaimed, a little overly defensive as he wiped away at his cheeks and vigorously rubbed his eyes. "That's stupid! I haven't cried since I was a stinky little baby!"

"Your eyes are red…" Sam started.

"I wasn't cryin'!" Dean snapped. "Now tell me where you were before I smash you to a pulp!"

"Oh!" Sam palmed his forehead. "I almost forgot!"

"Forgot what?" John asked. "Tell us everything…start at the beginning."

Sam beamed, pleased that his father and big brother were showing so much interest in his day. "Well…Mrs. Davis…"

"Not _her_ again!" Dean groaned.

"Hush!" John clapped a hand over Dean's mouth.

"Well…" Sam went on. "She took our class out on a walk…and while we were walkin', I saw somebody who looked dirty and sad. She was holdin' an icky ol' fryin' pan and holding it out to people. Mrs. Davis said that no one should be sad or alone on Christmas, so I tried to go say hello, but Mrs. Davis wouldn't let me. So, I went over after school…"

"Sam!" Dean moaned.

"And I have someone I wantcha to meet!" Sam went over to the open door and stuck his head out. "Cora! It's okay, now! You can come in!"

"Who's Cora?" Dean asked.

Dean's question was soon answered when a skinny girl timidly made her way over to the doorway. Sam immediately took her hand and pulled her into the warm apartment.

"Daddy…Dean…" Sam nodded at each of them. "This is Cora."

Cora was probably about fifteen, give or take a few years. She was about 5'4 and she had an incredibly small frame. She was extremely skinny with all her bones protruding out due to malnourishment. She was wearing a tattered brown coat at a torn, blue skirt with multicolored patches sown on it. Cora also was very dirty and her waist-length blonde hair was exceptionally matted with little bits of leaves tangled in it. Dean also noticed that she wasn't wearing any shoes. Her feet were black from filth and blue from the cold.

"Cora?"Sam tugged on the frayed sleeve of her coat. "Say hi! Don't be shy!"

_Shy_ was an understatement. Cora's inky black eyes were shooting all over the room and she was shaking violently as if there were an earthquake tremor beneath her feet. She was wringing her raw, red hands nervously.

"Hello, Cora," John finally said slowly.

"Hi," she replied almost inaudibly.

"Sam?" John stiffly turned to his younger son. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" John pulled Sam aside into the kitchen before he could reply.

"Yeah?" Sam was still grinning from ear to ear.

"You…" John held up his finger. "You can't just bring homeless people into our house!"

"Why not?" Sam frowned.

"Because…" John let out a huge sigh. "Some of them can be dangerous…"

"But Cora's really nice!" Sam protested, pouting.

"It's just…" John was trying to resist the power of Sam's pout. "It's just…"

"Can she have some dinner with us?" Sam pleaded. "She's so hungry and sad!"

"No!" John was horrified. "Who knows if she's in her right mind?!"

"But Dad," Sam's lower lip went out even further. "Helping people is what Christmas is all about! Can't we just let her eat with us _once_?"

John sighed, defeated once again. "Fine! Fine! But you make sure she leaves when she's supposed to."

"Yay!" Sam hugged his father's legs and rushed out back to the entrance hall. John followed gingerly behind.

Dean was eyeing Cora quizzically as she looked down.

"Cora!" Sam exclaimed, rushing over to her, taking her hand once again.

"Laddie?" Cora put her free hand on Sam's shoulder. "I think I'm not welcome here. I 'spose I understand. I'm used to it, I says." Cora had a very thick Irish accent, which both John and Dean found peculiar.

"But, Cora!" Sam smiled warmly. "Daddy said you could have dinner with us!"

"But I's not fit to be dinin' with sucha fine lot of folks like you." Cora shook her head, smiling weakly and taking her hand away from Sam's.

"Cora?" Dean timidly stepped up. "Why don'tcha have some dinner with us? You look awfully hungry." Dean couldn't believe what he was doing, but there was something inside him that ached with pity as he looked upon the poor girl only a few years older than he. What if he were as hungry and cold as Cora? How would he feel?

"You're very kind, you are," Cora nodded, swallowing back tears. "But…"

"Please, Cora?" Sam looked up at her with his puppy-dog eyes. "I'm gonna microwave some turkey sandwiches all by myself! And we can even have some gingerbread men!"

"Gracious!" Cora jumped back. "You be eatin' little men?!"

Sam giggled with delight. "No, silly! The cookies are _shaped_ like people!"

"Aye, I see," Cora nodded, smiling slightly.

"So…will you?" Dean inquired.

Cora sighed. "Alright. If it ain't too much trouble…"

…

"I swear on my mum's grave! I've never had _nothin__' _that's tasted better!" Cora exclaimed, her mouth full of gingerbread.

John chuckled and Sam beamed with happiness. Dinner with Cora hadn't been at all what John had expected. Once she got over her shyness, Cora proved to be a very lively, bright girl. And the Winchesters would admit that it had been the best meal they'd had in a long time.

"I made em' all by myself!" Sam informed her excitedly.

"Hey!" Dean protested. "I put gumdrops on one of em'."

"Well aren't you a helpful lad?" Cora pretended to be impressed. "Did you also help by lickin' the sugar off the bowl?"

Everyone laughed heartily at Dean as he pouted. And eventually, he joined in, though he was the butt of the joke.

"You all have been so nice to me. I wish I had somethin' to give you folks." Cora said wistfully after the laughter died down.

"But you have!" Sam chimed in.

"And what would that be?" Cora raised her eyebrows.

"You!" Sam got up out of his chair and sat on Cora's lap.

Cora's chin began to quiver and she bit her lower lip. Soon, tears began pouring out of her eyes and she had to put her face in her hands to cry.

"Cora?" Sam was worried. "What's the matter?"

Cora let out a sniff and a choked gasp. "You're like a lil' angel, laddie…bein' so sweet to a wretch like me."

Dean got up from the table and brought over a box of tissues, handing Cora one. She took it gratefully.

"I'm sorry," Cora blew her nose. "I'ma just not used to havin' anyone bein' kind. I don't have any family to speak of."

Dean put a hand on her shoulder as he imagined the horror of having no one. Having his mother die was enough…but losing _everyone_? That would truly be hell. He couldn't even fathom the pain she was feeling.

"Hey, Cora?" John stood up as well. "If you want to stay a little longer…"

"No sir," Cora shook her head. "I've prob'ly had enough good for one day."

"Cora?" Sam snuggled closer to her. "I know you don't have any family…so…could I be your little brother? I've always wanted a sister…"

"Of course, laddie!" Cora kissed Sam's head as another tear slid down her cheek.

"Why don't you come over for Christmas?" John suggested.

"Are you sure?" Cora's eyes were wide.

"Of course," John smiled, very unsure of what was changing in him.

"I'll be there!" Cora clapped her hands together from excitement.

Sam went over to John and whispered in his ear,

"It feels good, doesn't it?"


	6. Too special for Crayons

**A.N. Holy crap, you guys! I'm really sorry for the huge delay! I've been awfully busy with schoolwork!**** And I also do not own the Grinch in any way. I also don't own Carpenters…though I really wish I owned Karen's voice…she is my idol.**

**…**

December 21st

…

"Darlin'…are you kiddin' me?" the cashier laughed cruelly.

"What?" Dean looked quizzically up at the cash register that read in green, digital letters "$3.45"…all the money he had.

Ever since Sam had mentioned this whole "Christmas nonsense", Dean had been saving up to buy his little brother a Christmas present. He'd been holding off on the delicious, chocolate pie in the school cafeteria, he'd made sure that he didn't buy any candy with his pocket money, and he picked up all spare change that he found on the ground…placing all his savings in a piggy bank.

Dean thought he had more than enough to buy Sam a "super cool" art kit at the mall toy store as he dumped a large pile of change on the counter and waited impatiently as the cashier counted the money.

"Listen, kid," the cashier said in her nasally voice as she held up the large, fancy art kit that Dean wanted to purchase. "This art kit is thirty-seven bucks...not three forty-five. So either cough up the money or stop wasting my time."

"But…" Dean blinked back tears of disappointment. "I need to get this for my little brother."

"Oh…another snot-nosed brat tellin' a sob story," she sniffed in annoyance. "Look behind you, kid."

Dean turned around to see a huge line of frantic, angry looking people standing behind him.

"What's the hold-up?!" A burly man in a red trench coat shouted.

"Move along, kid," the cashier scoffed. "Next!"

"Please," Dean begged as a tall woman holding a baby pushed him aside. "How'm I supposed to get Sammy a present?"

"Not my problem, kid," the cashier shrugged. "Go get him some cheap crayons and move to the back!"

_Crayons?_Dean knew Sam already had plenty of crayons. Dean had been hoping to get Sam the best present ever…an amazing art kit…just like Sam wanted. But instead he was walking, without an art kit, out of the mall toy-store. He had a heavy heart and empty hands. How was he supposed to get Sam a present now?

Dean sighed as he trudged through the mall, being shoved occasionally by desperate shoppers. One angry shopper even knocked him down on the hard, marble mall floor without even apologizing.

"Well, excuse me, asshole!" Dean shouted back at the disgruntled shopper, rubbing his sore rear when he'd pulled himself up.

Dean felt the icy cold air wash over him as the large, automatic doors whooshed open, allowing him to exit the mall. He zipped his leather jacket up all the way and cursed himself for not wearing something warmer.

_"__Walkin__' in a Winter Wonderland!"_

Dean heard the sound of several voices singing in harmony and the jingling noise of bells ringing. Dean looked to his left out of curiosity to see four people wearing red aprons that said "Salvation Army" on them. They were singing, ringing hand bells, and motioning at a red kettle that rested at their feet.

_"In the meadow we can build a snowman…"_

"Excuse me?!" Dean marched over to the strange people. "What the hell are you all singin' about? Do you see any snow?" Dean gestured around at the cold, but very snowless vicinity.

Almost instantaneously, the singing turned into jovial laughter.

"What's so funny?" Dean pouted. He was already feeling crummy and he wasn't in the mood to have people laughing at him.

"Son…" A handsome man with auburn hair who appeared to be in his early thirties was the first "aproned" person to speak. All the others were still laughing hysterically. "It's a song…nothin' to get worked up about."

"Well it's intacurate," Dean crossed his arms angrily.

The group laughed even louder.

"You mean _inaccurate_?" A woman with short, black hair chortled.

"Whatever," Dean pretended that he wasn't crushed to learn that he had been using one of his "big kid words" _inaccurately._ "S'not my fault you all are stupid." Dean turned around and started to leave.

"Aw, c'mon, kid!" The dark haired woman took him by the shoulder and pulled him back over with the strange group. "Get into the Christmas spirit!"

"If I hear "Christmas spirit" one more time…" Dean clenched his teeth.

"Wait!" the red haired man exclaimed. "This kid's given me the inspiration for our next song!" He whispered something to the rest of the crowd…an Asian-looking man and a young girl with long, red hair. "Are you all ready?"

"Greg…" the dark haired woman groaned. "What in the world are you going to…?"

_"You're a mean one…Mr. Grinch.__ You really are a heel! You're as cuddly as a cactus; you're as charming as an eel…" _They started singing, laughter in their eyes. The dark haired woman giggled and sang along, straightening up her red apron as she joined them, standing at the end of the line and singing the soprano melody.

Dean stared at all of them in disbelief, mouth agape as they began to harmonize with,

_"Your brain is full of spiders. You've got garlic in your soul…Mr. Grinch!"_

"Hold it! Hold it!" Dean had regained the ability to speak and was motioning for the group to stop singing. "Who's Mr. Grinch?"

"Is this kid for real?" The girl with red hair whispered, smiling.

"You mean to tell me that you've never read "How the Grinch stole Christmas?" by Dr. Seuss?" The red haired man looked at Dean as if he were an alien.

"Dr. Seuss?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "You mean that dorky guy who makes up words and rhymes?"

"You are a deprived child," The Asian man remarked.

"Am not!" Dean protested. "At least _I _don't have to stand out in the cold and ring bells and sing songs about _nonexistent_ snow while wearing stupid looking aprons."

To Dean's surprise, this earned him more laughter from the strange host of people.

"We don't _have _to," the dark haired woman explained, after the laughter had died down. "We're volunteers." She picked up the red kettle and rang the brass bell she had clenched in her hand. Right on cue, a little girl, who couldn't have been more than three, broke free of her mother and waddled over to the red kettle, putting two quarters in the kettle.

"Thank you, honey!" the dark haired woman smiled at the little girl. "Merry Christmas!" The girl disappeared in a flash. She must've been shy.

"Oh…I get it!" Realization dawned over Dean. "You all are beggars."

"Not beggars," the dark haired woman corrected him, putting down the kettle. "This money isn't for us...it's for charity."

"Huh?" Dean scratched his head.

"This money goes to people who need help," The Asian man explained.

Dean perked up immediately as he heard the Asian man say this. Maybe these people could give him the money to buy Sam's Christmas present! "Boy, I came to the right place, didn't I?!"

The four Salvation Army volunteers looked at each other, seeing if anyone understood what Dean was talking about.

"What do you mean, son?" the red haired man questioned him.

"I really need to get a present for my little brother," Dean informed them. "I've been saving up money to buy him a super cool art kit…but when I went to go buy it, I didn't have enough money…"

"Wait…" the dark haired woman held up her hands. "You want us to give you money?"

"Isn't that what you all do?" Dean's hope was slowly slipping away. "Give money to people who need help?"

"Oh, honey," the dark haired woman knelt in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "This money goes to people who hardly have anything at all...people who don't have enough clothes, enough food, enough things to keep them warm…"

"Oh," Dean looked down at his feet. "I…understand…I guess…"

The dark haired woman looked back at her group with concern and mouthed something to them. After a few moments, she turned back around to Dean.

"What's your name, sweetie?" she asked.

"I'm not s'posed to say my full name," Dean shrugged.

"Then just tell me your first name." the dark haired woman giggled.

"Dean,"

"Dean?" the black haired woman smiled. "I'm Vivien…it's nice to meet you, Dean." Vivien held out her hand and Dean timidly shook it. Then, the Asian man stepped forward,

"I'm Fred," Fred held out his hand as well for Dean to shake.

"And I'm Greg…and this is my younger sister, Brianna," Greg motioned to the red-headed girl. Dean took a closer examination and was able to detect the resemblance between the two.

"Nice to meet you," Dean mumbled unenthusiastically.

"Look," Vivien said. "I think it's really sweet how you want to get a present for your little brother…"

"I _need _to get a present for my little brother." Dean corrected her, trying not to let any tears escape from his eyes. He was having that feeling again. The feeling that he'd failed. He'd failed to get Sam…the center of his universe…a good Christmas present. Now, how would Sam ever know how much Dean really loved him?

"He's pretty special, isn't he?" Vivien gazed up at Dean with chaste sympathy in her eyes.

"You don't know the half of it," Dean rubbed his numb, cold hands together. "He's kinda showin' me that Christmas isn't all that bad. I mean…my family and I haven't celebrated Christmas since I was three or four…before my mom died. And Sam comes home one day…"

"Is that your brother? Sam?" Fred asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah…he's seven now." Dean was silent for a minute as he watched an elderly woman put two dollars in the red kettle. "Well…he made us decorate the apartment and do all this other stuff. Dad and I thought it was stupid at first. And I s'pose Dad still kind of thinks it's stupid…but when Sam brought home a poor person…I dunno…I just kind of started to think that Christmas wasn't that stupid…"

"Is that when you decided to get him a present?" Brianna piped up.

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "I'd been savin' to get him one ever since he brought up the stupid Christmas shit…"

The four bell ringers were shocked to hear such language coming out of the mouth of a fifth grader. But all of them tried to brush it aside and listen to the kid.

"Is that really how you feel about Christmas?" Brianna asked, her voice coated with pity.

"For most of my life…then it kind of changed…but now…" Dean looked down at his shoes again. "Now I realize that it's all a…a…_marketing scam_…" he'd learned that phrase from Sam, the child prodigy.

"He's gettin' all "Mr. Grinch" on us again," Greg commented, chuckling.

"Shut up, Greg," Brianna elbowed her brother in the ribs. "Could you be any more insensitive?"

"I wish I knew who this Grinch guy was," Dean grumbled in aggravation.

"I've got the cartoon version on tape!" Fred announced. "Why don't we all come over to your place at Christmas and we can all watch it?"

"Fred!" Vivien gave Fred a sharp look. "We can't just barge into some kid's house without his parents'…_father's_…permission!"

"Well…" Dean rubbed his chin, a habit of his father's that he liked to imitate. "You all'd get along with Sam, I'm sure. With your stupid, "holly jolly" attitudes and junk…"

"Aww!" Vivien gave Dean a tight hug. "He's so cute and acerbic!"

"I'm not _cute_," Dean spat. He was thoroughly disgusted, as he pushed Vivien away and ran a hand through his hair.

"He's like a mini motorcycle dude!" Brianna remarked, giggling.

"Do you know how much you girls are degrading this poor guy?" Greg stepped up before Dean could say anything nasty. "I'm sorry about them, Dean…they kind of do that to everyone…"

"Aww! Look at that little carrot-top hair!" Vivien tousled Greg's hair lovingly.

"Guys?" Fred spoke up. "Remember what we're supposed to be doing?"

"Oh…right…" Greg nodded, motioning for the group to get in a line. "Which one should we do?"

"Umm…Greg?" Dean said, blushing and rubbing the back of his head. He was nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Yeah little dude?" Greg raised his eyebrows as the other three looked at him with interest.

"Don't think I'm girly or anything…but…do you all know that song "Merry Christmas Darling" by the Carpenters?" Dean bit his lower lip. "I've been hearin' it on the radio…and I'm…_kind of_…starting to like it…a little."

The entire group smirked and looked at each other. Brianna stepped forward,

"That song is my expertise," she winked at Dean. "I'm an alto."

"Would you like to sing with us?" Fred asked.

"Er…I'm not that good," Dean lied. He actually was a pretty decent singer.

"That's okay," Greg grinned. "You can sing with me. I'm not too good either."

"Um…" Dean flushed even redder.

"C'mon…sing with us!" Vivien pleaded.

"Oh…okay," Dean shrugged, ears cherry red as he walked over to the line of singers.

"Okay…" Greg cleared his throat. "Ready, Bri?"

"Ready," Brianna nodded, took a deep breath, and began to sing with a rich, velvety voice,

_"Greeting cards have all been sent,_

_The Christmas rush is through_

_But I still have one wish to make…_

_A special one for you…"_

When it got into the chorus, the rest of the group starting humming…then singing along. Dean was shy at first, but once it neared the end of the song, he was singing out loud and clear. A throng of people began crowding around them to listen…and to give money. Dean was singing so well that the other four singers allowed him a solo,

_"Logs on the fire...fill me with desire…_

_To see you and to say…_

_That I wish you "Merry Christmas"_

_Happy New Year, too!_

_I've just one wish on this Christmas Eve…_

_I wish I were with you…"_

Then the whole group sang together,

_"I wish I were with you…"_

"Dean!"

John was pushing through the crowd and making his way over to Dean. When he reached his eldest son, he gripped him by the shoulders,

"What the hell are you doin'?" John interrogated Dean. "I was waitin' outside in the Impala forever! I was worried sick! I thought you'd been…"

"Sir?" Vivien stepped up. "It's our fault. He was with us."

"Well…" John was about to tell Vivien off, but Dean put a hand on his upper arm,

"They're not demons, Dad," Dean said. "At least…I don't think so."

"Cristo!" John cried. The four Salvation Army volunteers looked at the man as if he were an escapee from an insane asylum. "Er…sorry…thanks for watching over Dean."

"No problem," Greg smiled. "He's a nice kid."

John coughed nervously and put a dollar in the kettle.

"Thank you, sir!" Brianna nodded gratefully. "Merry Christmas!"

"Jesus Christ!" John groaned. "If anyone says "Merry Christmas" one more time…"

"Like father like son," Greg whispered to Vivien.

"Hey…I know you don't know us all that well, sir," Fred stepped up. "But…I just want to say…I hope your family…pulls through it."

"Dad?" Dean looked up at his father. "They want to show me a Christmas movie about a guy who steals Christmas. Can they come over on Christmas?"

"Dean..." John moaned. "We're already having Cora over…"

"The more the merrier!" Dean beamed up at John.

"Fine! I'm a complete pushover!" John cried out, pulling a receipt and a pen out of his coat pocket. He scribbled something on the back of the receipt and handed it to Fred. "Here's our address. You're welcome to come over for Christmas. Bring a dish if you'd like. There's going to be food, music, salsa dancers, acrobats, a magician, a mime…oh…and I'll even throw in a freaking clown!"

Instead of remarking on his father's obvious sarcasm, Dean said,

"Sam wouldn't like that…he's scared of clowns."

"If it's too much trouble…" Vivien started.

"Don't worry about it," John had halfway regained his composure. "We'd love to have you over. Good day!" John grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him away from the crowd.

"Bye! See ya later!" Dean waved with the hand that wasn't in his father's grasp. He was feeling considerably better. And he would be feeling great if it weren't for that one gloomy thing looming over his head. The fact that he still had nothing to give to Sam.


	7. A good big brother

**On chapter five I said I'd recognize my most appreciated reviewers. Since I didn't do that last chapter…I will now:**

**Qoh****…the anonymous reviewer.**** You were my first…so you're recognized.**

**Caroline ****Ackles****…for your short, but very constant reviews, I thank you.**

**Sandy Murray****…gracias for sticking with this for such a long time!**

**Sammygirl1963****…you're one of my favorite reviewers! Your reviews always make me smile!**

**Write-of-Way****…thanks for all your constructive compliments and reviews. They seem so well organized and they always make me feel warm and fuzzy inside!**

**IluvEdward101****…you are a new reader…but I really appreciate how you reviewed three ****chappies**** at a go…very impressive.**

**Don****…another anonymous reviewer. I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!**

**Also…I am so thankful for the CW making a beautiful, tear jerking, horrifying Christmas special. I NOW KNOW WHAT THAT FREAKIN' NECKLACE DEAN WEARS ALL THE TIME IS! sniff Dean…I love you!**

December 22nd

…

"Where's Dad?"

Dean rolled over on his side to face his little brother who was sitting up on the twin bed beside his. Sam's eyes glimmered in the soft light of the street lamps from outside the window. They were glittering more than usual. Sam must've had tears in his eyes.

"He's…out…working," Dean replied slowly, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Why?" Sam sniffed. "It's almost Christmas. Why does he have to work _now_?"

"He just has too, Sammy," Dean sighed. "Just get some sleep."

"But, Dean…" Sam whimpered. "What if he's not home for Christmas?"

"Is stupid Christmas all you worry about?!" Dean snapped angrily.

Sam let out a choked sob. "Dean…"

"Oh, Sammy," Dean's voice softened as he realized he wasn't doing his job. He was supposed to reassure Sam that everything was fine. To make him believe that Dad wasn't out fighting a bloodthirsty pack of hellhounds. Instead, he was just making Sam cry…like the rotten big brother he was.

Dean pulled himself out of bed, hearing the springs groan and creak underneath him. He groggily made his way over to Sam's bed.

"Scoot over," Dean ordered Sam, giving him a light push.

Sam acquiescently complied as he scooted to the right side of his bed, allowing Dean to plop down beside him. The bed dipped a little to the left as Dean situated himself.

"What are you so worried about, Sam?" Dean inquired gently after a moment of silent communication between the two. "Dad'll be back any hour now."

"I'm not that worried," Sam heaved a sigh, moving up closer to his big brother. "I know Dad's just working…"

Dean's stomach churned at the mention of his father's "work".

"But…I'm worried that I'm never gonna get the chance to make Dad like Christmas," Sam admitted. "I think…if he liked Christmas…he might be happier."

Instead of saying "I doubt it", Dean responded with,

"Maybe, Sammy," Dean tousled Sam's overgrown, silky hair. "Maybe,"

"I love you, Dean," Sam kissed Dean's cheek and rested his head across Dean's lap.

"You're such a sissy," Dean snorted, trying not to smile.

"Dean?" Sam yawned.

"Yeah, Pie-face?"

"What do you want for Christmas?"

Dean froze as his intestines formed into a tight knot. "I…I told Santa already."

"Something you didn't ask Santa for," Sam said sleepily.

"I…" Dean paused for a moment, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but so afraid to say it.

"Yeah?" Sam said almost inaudibly. The waves of sleep were enveloping him rapidly.

Dean waited a minute before answering,

"I want to get you the best present ever for Christmas," Dean whispered and anxiously waited for Sam's reply. All he heard was slow, sweet breathing. "Sammy?" A tiny snore escaped from Sam's lips. He was sound asleep.

"Oh well," Dean started to get up to go back to his own bed. But before he could leave, Sam grabbed Dean's arm and snuggled with it as if it were a teddy bear.

"Sammy…" Dean whined to Sam's subconscious. Sam let out a cute, high-pitched little yawn. "Okay…okay…" Dean caved into Sam's cuteness as he leaned back on the bed, letting Sam snuggle up on his chest.

Dean rested his head on the soft pillow and buried his chin into Sam's soft hair. In a few short minutes, both boys were slumbering peacefully.

…

John trudged into the apartment wearily, flinging off his coat and rushing over to the kitchen sink. His hands were drenched with the black blood of a hell hound.

He turned the knob on the sink and let the chilly, refreshing water cascade over his bloody, aching hands. The blood spilled off of his flesh and swirled down the drain.

When his hands were spotless, he pumped liquid Dial soap into his palms, rubbing them together and making white, lathery foam.

"Shit!" John cursed as he felt a burning sting on the back of his left hand. Three puncture wounds with heavy bruising on the outskirts of the more horrific injuries. A bite from a feral hellhound. It hurt like the dickens, but John bit the bullet and kept cleaning out his wound with the harsh, antibacterial soap. John had retained worse, bloodier wounds in his time and it was not a novel occurrence.

Once he had tended to his injured hand by applying Neosporin and slapping on band-aids, he decided that he needed a shower. Though, it was about three o' clock in the morning, he wasn't all that tired. Getting clean was his first priority.

As he made his way to the shower at the end of the hallway, he passed by Sam and Dean's bedroom. It was his paternal instinct that made him stop at the doorway and peer in.

His stomach gave a jolt as he saw Dean's empty, unmade bed.

"Oh hell, no!" John said to himself, rushing into the room. Frightening images of demons tearing his beloved son apart made him almost go into hysterics.

But when John glanced over to Sam's bed, relief washed over him like a flood and he let out a sigh that could've knocked down all the three little pigs' houses combined.

Sam and Dean were together in the little twin-sized bed. Dean's arms were wrapped around his little brother as Sam lay nestled up underneath Dean's chin. It was a sight that made a father want to curse himself for not having a camera handy.

John leaned over his two sons and lightly kissed the both of them on the top of their heads. Dean began to stir.

"Dad?" Dean moaned, voice coated with grogginess.

"Yeah," John whispered back. "I'm home."

Dean let out a sleepy groan and a yawn. "Did you get em'? Those hellhounds?"

"Shh!" John put a finger to his lips and pointed to Sam. "What if he's awake and listening in?"

"Oh…right…sorry," Dean looked down at Sam lovingly. "I want him to be…" Dean did a double take. "Wait…why the hell am I sleepin' with the runt?!"

John chuckled weakly. "You tell me. Did you come snuggle with him because you were having scary nightmares?"

"Shut up," Dean grumbled. "I wasn't having nightmares."

"I know you weren't, Dean," John said softly. "You were just taking care of Sammy. Like a good big brother."

Dean set his eyes downwards. "I'm not such a good big brother,"

"Why would you say that?" John asked, concerned.

"I…" Dean was beginning to emerge from the warm bliss of sleep and into the harsh reality of life. "I…haven't gotten Sammy a Christmas present yet."

"You've got time," John smiled. "Don't worry about it."

"No…" Dean's voice cracked slightly. "I tried to get him that art kit he wanted…but I didn't have enough money." Dean was fighting not to cry. "I…I'd been savin' up all my money…not eating any chocolate pie at lunch…and even not buyin' milk sometimes…and I still didn't have enough. I wanted to give Sammy the best present ever..."

"If that's not a super cool big brother, I don't know what is."

Dean and John jumped from the voice of Sam which was riddled with sleepiness and rather croaky.

"Sam!" Dean immediately changed personality. "How long have you been listenin'?"

"When you said you weren't a good big brother," Sam rasped tiredly.

"Oh," John and Dean said at the same time.

"Dean…" Sam lifted up his head and looked at his big brother with bleary, but honest eyes. "I don't need a present. What makes me happy is how much you care about me. That…means a lot."

A tear slid down Dean's cheek, but he brushed it away before anyone could notice. "I… I love you, Sammy."

"That's the best Christmas present ever…to hear you say that." Sam smiled.

"Boys?" John was gazing out the window. "I think…oh my gosh…"

"What?" Dean asked, alarmed.

"I think it's _snowing_!"


	8. Baby it's cold outside

**A.N. Truly sorry for the huge delay. I was distracted by my adorable sisters. ******

…

December 23rd

…

"_Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!" _ Dean and Sam sang raucously together. Sam was a little off-key and Dean voice cracked slightly on some on the notes. But both were very happy and by the end of the song they were on the snowy ground, giggling relentlessly. Both Winchester brothers had extremely ruddy cheeks, especially Sam who had fair skin at that time.

Sam and Dean had been out all day from about six o' clock in the morning until high-noon…playing in the thick piles on snow that blanketed the ground, making it look like a surreal, vast dreamland. All the bare, once forlorn looking tree branches were heaped with powdery snow and adorned with little icicles.

The snow was still falling. The flakes clung onto the boy's eyelashes and the locks of Sam's exposed hair which he attempted to stuff in a knit cap. But his hair was too silky and slippery so many large strands managed to escape.

Dean, on the other hand, had fairly short hair so he didn't have to worry. _His _dilemma was his body temperature. The weather outside was steadily getting colder, but his leather jacket hadn't managed yet to get warmer. He had flatly refused to put on as much snow gear as Sam, fearing that he might look like a "dork". Heaven forbid that from ever happening! _Dean_ _Winchester _could _never_ be caught looking like a dork.

So, there they were, having fun in the snow. Singing, laughing, smiling, making snow angels, and having the time of their lives.

"Whatcha wanna do next, Sammy?" Dean asked his little brother after they were able to stop laughing. Both were lying on their sides in the snow, facing each other.

"I don't know," Sam tried to untangle a piece of a pine straw that was embedded in his hair.

"I know," Dean stood up and held his hand out to his brother. Sam timidly took Dean's hand with his own gloved hand and Dean pulled him up. "We'll have a snowball fight. Whattdya say, Pipsqueak?"

Sam looked down at his boots. "I don't know how to make a snowball."

"Here, Dummy," Dean bent down, scooping up a pile of snow in his bare, ungloved hands. "Repeat my actions,"

"Yes, Mr. Dean," Sam reached down and shoveled some of the cold, icy substance into his stiff but very warm, gloved hands. "What do I do next?"

"Call me "Mr. Dean" again and there won't be any "next"," Dean gave his brother a shove. "Okay…so you try to press it together…like this," Dean compacted the snow in his palms. "And you work it into a ball." Deans fingers moved in and out, working into the snow and molding it until he had a perfectly formed snowball.

Sam, on the other hand, was having a little difficulty,

"Mine doesn't look like that." Sam said dejectedly, holding out a lumpy, long "thing" made out of snow.

"Sam," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Here…" Dean picked up some more snow and this time put it in Sam's cupped hands. "Okay. Let me show you how to do it."

Dean stood behind Sam and took his hands from behind, controlling them. He made Sam's palms press the snow together and forced Sam's gloved fingers to form the snow into a ball.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, once he took a closer look at Dean's hands. The almost-completed snowball plummeted to the ground. "What happened to your hands?!"

Sam took his big brother's hands and examined them. They were as cold as death and very stiff. The fat tips of his fingers were cherry red tinged with a light purple.

"It's nothing," Dean pulled his hands away. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't you have any gloves?" Sam looked up at his older brother with concerned eyes.

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "It's nothing…I swear."

"But, Dean…"

"Don't "But, Dean" me," Dean snorted, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jackets. His hands went right through them since both pockets had the bottom worn out of them. "Now…do you want to learn how to make a snowball or not?"

"Well…"

"Dean!"

Dean's ears perked up at the sound of his father calling him. He looked up to see John sticking his head out the window.

"Yeah, Dad?!" Dean shouted back.

"Come up here! I need you to run an errand!"

"Yes sir!" Dean called out. He then turned back to Sam. "Sorry, Dude."

"No biggie," Sam shrugged. "Have fun…running errands."

…

Dean walked out of the drugstore with a plastic bag clenched in his fist.

"_Ring! Ding! Ding!" _Bells had been placed over the drugstore entrance door so that a jingling sound would be heard every time the door opened or closed. Very obnoxious.

Dean had been sent out to buy some more Advil for his father. Apparently he was having a "headache". But Dean knew it probably had something to do with his father's recent encounter with the hellhounds. Or…maybe he really was experiencing headaches from all of Sam and Dean's Christmas carols.

The frosty winter air nipped at the tip of Dean's nose and the edges of his ears. It was so cold. A lot colder than Dean had ever experienced in his life. But, alas, all he could do was pull his insubstantial leather jacket closer to his body for body heat.

"Stupid, damn snow," Dean grumbled. "It's too freakin'…"

Dean never got to finish his rant due to a slippery patch of ice on the sidewalk that sent his tumbling to the cement. Luckily, he fell over on top of a large, cardboard box on the curb that helped break his fall.

"Shit!" Dean shouted as he tried to scramble off of the box. The problem was that he was upside down in the box. The top of his head was resting at the bottom of it.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and kicked his legs. No success.

Dean was yelling out an eclectic mass of curse words that would make a pirate blush when something hot, rough, and wet glided across his nose.

"What the…?" Dean opened his eyes. A shaggy, brown mass with glossy, black eyes was staring at him and panting steamy breath in Dean's face. A _monster._

Dean let out a yelp and practically flipped out of the box by leaping up around fifty feet in the air.

Once Dean plopped back to the ground on the balls of his feet, he realized he had tipped the box over.

Then, from the box emerged the little, brown, hairy beast. It was about the size of a small loaf of bread, but Dean knew better than to take size into consideration. His father said that sometimes the most vicious, violent, ghastly things come in small packages.

Dean backed up as the creature leapt _playfully _onto his shoes.

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed. "Get off, you…" The little thing let out a "baby bark", better known as a yip. "…_dog_?!"

The little scruffy thing had a little stub of a tail that was wiggling back and forth. It also had a little pink tongue that hung slightly lopsided out of its mouth. And though it was a gangly, dirty, scraggly thing...it was considerably (dare he say it?) _cute_.

Dean turned over the box and noticed on the front there was writing. It was crude, messy penmanship and it was obviously done with a blue magic marker.

"_Free dog. Take it or leave it."_

Dean looked at the sign and he looked at the mangy puppy. With a bath, some brushing, and little meat on its little frame…it might look presentable.

Dean looked around to see if anyone was watching before he bent down and scratched the dog behind his floppy little ears.

"Aww!" Dean smiled, looking at the puppy. It reminded him of his Sammy. Big, innocent eyes, cheerful, but slightly goofy and awkward disposition, and…there was the fact that the dog's fur color wasn't that different from the color of Sam's own dark brown hair.

"Wait…" Dean thought aloud to himself. "Maybe…"

If light bulbs really could float over people's heads when they get ideas, that would've been happening then with Dean Winchester. He scooped the puppy up in his arms, zipped it up inside his jacket, and scampered home.


	9. Angels and Doggies

_**A.N. It's been forever, hasn't it? A year, to be exact. But I will finish this. I promise. Now…I admit…I haven't been writing much recently, and my skills may be kind of rusty…but I hope you all will still like it. And hello to any new readers!**_

…

December 23rd: Late Afternoon

…

"Stay _still!" _Dean growled in annoyance, wrestling with the soaking wet mop of an animal. His face was flushed, the front of his t-shirt was drenched, and his faded jeans were speckled with dark water stains as he tried to keep the stubborn puppy to stay in the bathtub. Obviously the puppy wasn't too keen on following through with Dean's original plan.

"You're makin' it a lot harder than it should be, dumb-dumb!" Dean snapped, grabbing the bottle of hand soap and dumping its contents on the furry back of the unwilling creature. Consequently, the puppy made another attempt to escape, forcing Dean to push him back into the water, earning himself an even _wetter_ t-shirt.

"Stupid dog…" Dean grumbled, burying his fingers into the wet, gooey fur, spreading the soap all over the squirming canine's body. "Now Dad's gonna make me do laundry!" He began to scrub vigorously, working the soap into a rich lather. "Have you ever smelled Dad's socks?!" The puppy stopped struggling for a second to look up at Dean with a quizzical expression. "Great," Dean groaned. "Now I'm tryin' to chat up a friggin' _dog—AAHH!" _ The puppy began to shake the water off his fur, rewarding Dean with a flurry of suds that consequently flew into his face.

"Don't 'effin' _shake!" _Dean shouted, furiously wiping the soap from his burning eyes. This was way more difficult than the poor boy thought it would be. "Why can't you—?" He was cut off by a warm lick sliding across his cheek and a pair of giant, wounded-looking eyes staring up at him. Damn it. The _thing _had those godforsaken "Sammy" eyes. "Okay…" Dean sighed, scratching behind the puppy's soapy ears. "Just…keep still, alright?" The puppy barked in response. "Good. Now—"

"_Dean?"_ Dean froze in terror as he heard his father's voice followed by three, sharp knocks. "Dean, what was that noise?"

"Uhh…" Dean gulped. He'd completely forgotten, in the midst of the excitement, about what John would have to say about Sam's Christmas present. Crap, he was so screwed. "Wh-What noise?" Thinking quickly, he reached over to flush the toilet.

"Oh…" John's tone of voice changed from stern to mildly casual. "I…could've sworn I heard something that sounded like a _dog." _

Dean heard his father chuckle from the other side of the door and forced himself to laugh along with him as to not sound suspicious.

"A d-dog?" Dean stammered, giggling awkwardly between words. "Well…I'm not a werewolf if that's what you're worried about!" He kept forcing laughter. In fact, he may have been pushing it a little too far since his laughs actually sounded like "ha-ha".

"Dean…" John sounded slightly disturbed by his son's behavior. "Are you…_feeling_ alright, son?"

"Yes!" Dean replied much too quickly. "Just…" He noticed the puppy was trying to get out of the tub again and he pushed him back in. "…great!"

"Well…hurry up. I need to get in there." John replied.

"Umm…" Dean turned the knob on the bathtub and waited for the water to warm up. "I'm…taking…a bath." There was a silence at the other end of the door. "Really."

John's eyebrows almost reached his hairline. "_Why?" _Dean _never_ took baths. In fact, no Winchesters _ever_ took baths.

"I've…er…" Dean gulped, trying to rinse the suds from the puppy's fur. "Dad…I just…" Then it came to him. "I...saw this really hot chick on T.V and…um…cold baths…_help._"

"_What?" _ John was more than perplexed by his son's behavior. It was then when he considered therapy for his eldest son…even though John, as a rule, didn't believe in that psychology crap. "Dean? What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"You know, Dad…" Dean tried to make it sound obvious. When he got no response from his baffled father, he worked it a little more. "You _know…"_

"What do y--…oh my God!" John groaned as the realization dawned on him. God, he hated this aspect of being a father. In fact, he tried to avoid it at all costs. "W-Well…" He tried to make it quick and painless for himself. "Y-You're…growing up…and all…"

"Don't worry, Dad." Dean reassured him, still desperately trying to get the soap out of the dog's tangled coat. "I know what to do." His freckled cheeks were tinted with a brilliant red hue. Man, how did this become so awkward?

"Um…well…" John cleared his throat. "Hurry up in there."

"_Whew…that was a close one." _Dean thought to himself, breathing a deep sigh of relief. But, as they say, confidence often leads to one's demise. Yes. It was a cruel twist of fate that made the puppy let out a loud bark, just when Dean thought he was in the clear. _"Oh shit."_

"_Dean?" _ John's voice became almost menacing. "_What_ in the name of hell was _that?" _His words were spoken slowly and sharply, placing emphasis in all the important places. It was enough to make a shiver run down Dean's spine. Oh, he was more than screwed. He was _dead._

"Err…_woof!" _Dean thought quickly, attempting a rather pathetic imitation of a dog's bark. "I'm…umm…p-practicing f-"

But before Dean could conjure up a good lie, the door flew open, revealing a very angry John. And just when Dean thought his father couldn't get any scarier, John set his eyes upon the wet, floppy animal. If it was physically possible for people to shoot fire from their eyes, John's eyes would've burned the entire apartment complex to a crisp in a matter of seconds.

"D-Dad…" Dean gulped, picking up the scrawny dog, feeling the wetness sink into his already soaked t-shirt as he held the animal close to his chest. "I…c-can explain…"

"I'll give you _ten_ seconds." John growled. He was furious. He had specificallytold his sons a _thousand_ times that they could _not _have pets. He expected Sam and Dean to follow his orders without question, and as much as he loved them, when they disobeyed _direct_ orders, all hell broke loose.

"I…f-found it…and…um…" Dean stood up, not wanting to be on such a low level when his father was angry. "I-I…h-hadn't g-gotten Sammy a present…and I-I…really think Sammy…w-would like it—"

"_Dean_…" John took a step closer. "This is by far the _stupidest _thing you've _ever _done! Did you actually think I was going to let you—?"

"But Dad—"

"_No!" _John snapped. "We're going to take that _mutt _right back where you found it! Do you hear me, Dean Winchester?!"

"I…" Dean took another deep breath, still holding the puppy tightly. "I…c-can't." Dean lowered his eyes. "I…won't."

Time froze for a moment. That had been the first time Dean had _ever_ directly disobeyed his father. His action was enough to shock John _and_ himself.

"What..." John's voice was low, but threatening. "…did…you…say?"

"I…said…" Dean was struck with bolt of courage and he put the puppy down, stood up taller, and looked his father in the eye. "I…won't."

John's hand twitched. He wasn't the type to hit his sons, but every ounce in his being wanted to smack his eldest across the face. However, he tried to calm himself,

"Dean…you _know_ we don't have the time or money to…care for a dog."

"I'd help Sammy pay for his food and I'd clean up after him." Dean replied steadily, watching nervously as the puppy started to sniff John's shoes. His father stiffened and Dean's good instincts compelled him to pick the animal up again.

"No dog would want to be on the road that much." John's fists clenched and his heart was racing.

"Lots of dogs ride in cars." Dean argued.

"We'd have to stop and let it go to the bathroom."

"So?" Dean got even braver. "We have to stop anyways and use the bathroom _ourselves."_

"Dean…" John's teeth clenched. _"No."_

"You just don't want a dog 'cause Mom had a dog!" Dean blurted out, knowing this was the real reason John protested so much to having a pet.

John was so stunned that you could've knocked him over with a feather. How did Dean know about that? Mary had a dog _way_ before he was born. "How…did—?"

"Vicky." Dean remembered the crumpled picture he found in John's suitcase of his mother nestling up with a giant chocolate lab. On the back, "Mary and Vicky" was written in his father's hurried cursive. "That was the name of her dog."

"That is _not_ the reason, Dean!" John snapped, blinking excessively.

"It is too!" Dean felt the puppy lick underneath his chin. "You know…I'll bet Mom would've wanted Sammy to have a dog."

"You have no idea what your mother wanted!" John retorted, grabbing his son roughly by the shoulder.

Dean's good sense told him to put the puppy down, away from John, and he did so. It was rare that he ever listened to his sensible side, but he decided that was the best course of action. He felt his father's grip tighten on his shoulder, making him wince slightly. "It would make Sammy happy."

"Give Sam a fucking piece of _tape_ and that'll make him happy!" John was losing it. Thoughts of his Mary filled his head, making him numb to his present situation. His only feeling was the unspeakable pain he felt in his soul. The agonizing torment of his loss was unbearable, enough to make him lose his mind entirely.

"You don't care about Sam, do you, Dad?!" Dean cried. He knew he was pushing it, but he no longer cared. "You don't _want_ him to be happy! You—"

"_Slap!"_

Everything became silent as Dean stepped back, clutching his burning cheek. John's hand was still raised as if it were trapped in the heavy stillness of the moment. Like it was still living in the moment when John, for the first time, struck his son.

John was panting, his heart pounding like a sledgehammer in his ears. He felt hotter than a blue flame, sweat making tiny beads across his creased forehead. Suddenly, the sensation of guilt washed over him like the frigid water from the Arctic Ocean, chilling him and stinging his skin with sea salt. Oh God, what had he done?

"Dean…" John barely whispered, lowering his hand as he looked into his son's widened, olive eyes. They glimmered with a fear that his father had never seen before. Hurt. Fear. Shock. Like all time had collapsed like a rain of dominoes around his already tarnished youth. He was still holding his hand to his cheek, lips parted numbly.

"Dean…" John tried again, forcing himself to look in his eldest son's eyes, even though Dean's eyes made him feel naked, exposed. Dean's eyes searched for the father he thought he knew, piercing through every calloused layer John had built for himself, reaching to his tattered heart.

"Y-Yes, Dad?" Dean replied softly, slowly removing his hand from his cheek and placing it at his side, trying to pretend it never happened. However, the red handprint that marred his golden skin remained as evidence of John's transgression.

"I'm—"

"D-Don't." Dean cut him off, voice still low. "It's…fine, Dad. I'll…take it back."

Guilt. Unbearable guilt. He had no right to treat his son in that manner. He could be firm, he could be strict, he could even be harsh…but he promised himself that he would never resort to those measures. What would Mary think of him? He had changed when Mary died. He changed more and more every day. Would Mary even recognize him? No. She'd be horrified at the beast he'd become.

"I…" John gulped. "Dean…I'm gonna go take a walk, alright?" Dean nodded, understanding. "I…need to…clear my head."

"Okay, Dad." Dean looked over to the puppy who was cowering behind the bathtub and he scooped the wet creature up into his arms.

John gave his eldest son a last glance before departing the tiled room, only to be graced by the presence of his younger child , staring up at him with his wide, worried eyes.

"Dad, is everything alright?" Sam's words were spoken gently and cautiously as if he were making an extra effort to not upset his father. It was as if he, somehow unconsciously knew what plagued John's already troubled mind. But of course he didn't know. He was only seven, after all.

"Yes, son." John replied weakly. "Hey, Sam? Why don't you...stay in your room for awhile?"

Now, normally Sam would've responded with something along the lines of "But _why_?" but instead, he simply nodded his head and obeyed.

John stepped into his bedroom, grabbing his bag full of knives, rock salt, holy water, and guns loaded with silver bullets. Even if he were just going out for awhile, there was no way in hell that he'd go out unarmed.

…

John Winchester wandered the streets aimlessly. For the first time in his life, he was going nowhere. He had no destination, no purpose in his movements. He was lost. Hopelessly lost in the abyss that served as his mind.

The snowflakes, plummeting downwards like an avalanche, blurred the demon hunter's vision as it stung his eyes and clung to his lashes like iron particles on a magnet. He was seeing white. Eventually, he lost his eyesight entirely, but he somehow didn't care. In fact, he didn't care if he ran into the busy street and got hit by a truck. _"Maybe I'd be better off." _John thought to himself. _"Maybe…Dean and Sam would be better off." _John's trembling hand moved up to wipe the melting snow from his eyes. His own thoughts frightened him more than any demon or monster ever had. Never before had he actually considered suicide. He knew his sons needed him. At least…he _thought_ his sons needed him…

"And they _do_ need you, John."

John, not missing a beat, pulled out a 45 and pointed it directly at the source of the voice. He lifted up his eyes to see a man who looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. This stranger bore a striking resemblance to a tax accountant, sporting a navy suit and a tan trench coat; however the only inconsistency to his professional appearance was his wild, brown hair.

He stared at John with a calm expression, seeming not affected in the slightest by John's gun. To the Winchester's astonishment, the man actually _smiled_ at the sight of it. Something was _definitely _off about him.

"Who are you?" John demanded, cocking his gun.

"That should not concern you." He replied coolly, studying John's face with his shockingly blue eyes. "All I mean to do is to give you some advice. So I suggest that you put your gun down. Besides, it shall have no effect on me. My vessel, however, might experience some pain."

"_Cristo!" _John shouted, having no doubt in his mind that this being was a demon. However, he was shocked when the man did not flinch. Was he maybe…?

"No, I'm not a ghost, John." The man gazed at him unblinkingly. "If I told you what I was, you would not believe me."

"Try me." John chuckled.

He smiled up at him, blue eyes glimmering with a slight hint of hope. "I'm an angel, John."

"Oh God!" John groaned. "Don't you _dare_ start with that religious shit!"

"I assumed that would be your reaction." The "angel" sighed heavily. "But let's make this quick, shall we?"

"Make _what _quick?" John growled, still not lowering his gun.

The man didn't reply immediately. Instead, he took a couple of steps closer and lowered John's gun, as if he knew the Winchester would not fire. He kept steady eye contact with the demon hunter, his sapphire irises burying themselves into John's soul. "Don't do it." He whispered, his voice rough and silky all at the same time.

"Do _what_, exactly?" John tried to sound exasperated, but deep inside he felt anxious. What _did_ he mean?

"Leave Sam and Dean." He answered simply. "Yes, John, I know the names of your sons." He said, before John could even ask.

"I'm not—"

"Even if you left them with Bobby, you know they'd be devastated." he spoke before John could protest. "They'd be orphans. Not just motherless…but fatherless." The stranger moved even closer so that the toes of their shoes pressed against each other. "Ending your life solves nothing."

"What is this? "It's A Wonderful Life"?!" John scowled, putting his gun away.

"Pardon?" the man tilted his head to the side with curiosity.

""It's A Wonderful Life"…you know…"

"I…do not." The strange man was still studying his face as if it were a intrinsic work of art. "Care to enlighten me?"

"No…just…" John sighed. What a dimwit! "Just leave me alone."

"Not unless you go back to your sons."

"Why should I listen to _you_, Clarence?" John scoffed, straightening his jacket in a careless manner.

"Clarence?"

"Clarence. The guy from…" John trailed off when the weirdo cocked his head again. "Oh…screw it."

"John." he put his hand on the demon hunter's shoulder. John wanted to shrug it off, but there was something that compelled him to just let it be. Perhaps it was the warm, electrifying sensation shooting through his body. Or maybe it was just the sense of comfort radiating from the man's soothing expression and pleading eyes. "Go back. Dean will forgive you…"

"No he won't." John bit his lip, looking away. But as the man's grip tightened, a powerful force pulled his head back to face the supposed "angel".

"Yes he will." he replied calmly. "You made a mistake. Humans always make mistakes. Dean knows that. He loves you and nothing will change that." His voice became a gentle whisper. "_Go back."_

"But, what if I—?" Suddenly, the man disappeared, leaving John alone with only the freezing air for company. He stood there for awhile, not moving an inch, feeling the snow washing away his indecisiveness and doubt. Within minutes, he realized what he needed to do. He needed to go home. Home….where he belonged.

…

_**A.N. Feel free to review! It might just make my day. And I'll always reply. :)**_


	10. Chick Flick Moments

_**A.N. Merry Christmas, you all! I might've rushed this a bit…but I wanted it up by friggin' Christmas! And, FYI…my real Christmas is more on the 27**__**th**__**…so…read the next installment anyway!**_

…

_December 23__rd__: A little later…_

…

Dean moved the plastic comb through the puppy's fur with care, making sure he didn't hurt the creature by pulling too hard on a tangle.

The puppy, now dry, nuzzled the boy's hand, licking tentatively at his fingertips. Now that the little dog was clean, dried, and brushed, Dean could see what a beautiful animal he was. His brown fur was so neat and wavy that it bore a remarkable likeness to chocolate pouring out from a fondue fountain. His once dirtied, blackened paws were clean and almost aristocratic from the way the creature arched his toes like a ballet dancer.

"_Just like Sammy," _Dean thought to himself. _"Always trying to be bigger than he's supposed to be."_

Dean quickly tried to shove those thoughts out of his mind. It didn't matter how much the animal was like his little brother because Sam would never get to see the puppy anyway. Yes, Dean had accepted the fact that the dog was going back where he used to be…on the streets. However, the mere image of the little animal going back where he came from made Dean cringe. The thought of Sammy never getting a puppy on Christmas morning was even worse.

"I got what was comin', though." Dean murmured to himself, brushing his hand against his cheek. Luckily, the soreness was gone. "S'not Dad's fault. I shouldn't've talked to him like that." Dean sighed, looking at the puppy. "And now everyone's got to suffer 'cause of me." The puppy licked him again. "It's my fault that Christmas is gonna be ruined. It's _you_ that's gonna die on the streets. It's _Sammy _that won't get a good present on Christmas. All this just 'cause I'm stupid." Dean tried his best not to cry. But, what could he do? "Dad needs to hit me again. Harder. "

"No, Dean…I don't."

Dean whipped around to see his dad at the doorway of the bathroom, dark hair sprinkled with snow, his nose and ears bright pink, and his eyes bloodshot. In that moment John Winchester looked like nothing Dean had ever seen before. _Vulnerable. _His shoulders were slumped, his gaze was cast downwards, and his hands trembled uncontrollably. The sight frightened the Winchester boy. It frightened him even more than the sight of his father angry. This was different. His father was scared. His father was weak… when Dean thought he never could be.

"Dad?" Dean picked the puppy up. "A-Are you ready?"

"Dean…" John walked up tentatively to his son. "I…um…"

"Hey, Dad…it's fine." Dean hesitantly patted his father on his upper arm, still juggling the puppy in the crook of his elbow.

"It's…not, Dean." John clapped his son's shoulder, looking at Dean with hurt, pleading eyes. "I should never…_ever…_do that to you…"

"It's okay, Dad." Dean steadily gazed up at his father. "Everyone makes mistakes."

John's eyes widened at Dean's words, however Dean didn't understand why. "I…" To Dean's dismay, the man who he believed to be the bravest in the world began to tear up. "Can…you forgive…my mistake, Dean?"

"O-Of course, Dad." Dean swallowed. His father was behaving very uncharacteristically and it was making him more nervous by the second.

"Dean…" John clasped both of Dean's shoulders, sighing with relief. "You are really exceptional. Do you—?"'

"Dad." Dean raised an eyebrow. "You need a drink."

"No, Dean…it's just…" John pulled his son a little closer, ignoring the fact that he puppy was sniffing the back of his hand. "You need to know how much I—"

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"No chick-flick moments." Dean cracked a smile. "Alright?"

"But…"

"Really Dad." Dean chuckled a little bit. Soon enough, they both began to laugh together. It doesn't take a fool to tell that all had been forgiven.

…

"So…are there any forms I need to fill out?" John held the puppy in his arms as Dean stood at his side, trying to remain indifferent…

But he couldn't.

Dean knew the puppy would be better off in the pound, awaiting a new owner, and his father had made a really good compromise. But, he still couldn't stand the thought of what would happen if the puppy _wasn't _adopted. And then there was the fact that he'd be empty-handed on Christmas morning…

"No sir…not at all." The lady at the desk had to speak up over the incessant barks and mews echoing from the back of the shelter. It really was full during the holidays. "Just hand him over and we'll take care of him." She held her arms out, her silver bangles jingling as she did so. She really _was_ attractive. A cute, perky smile and brown, curly hair cut short so that it framed her pixyish face. And her twinkling brown eyes set John _and_ Dean's mind at ease.

However, as soon as the puppy got a good look at her, he began to growl, baring his tiny, sharp teeth.

"Is he still feral?" the lady asked quizzically.

"I don't know…" John began to struggle a bit as the puppy squirmed violently in his arms. "He seemed very good-natured—" The puppy began to bark and snarl viciously…well…as viciously as the little thing could manage.

"What's wrong, buddy?" Dean started to pet the animal behind his ears. However, the puppy paid him no mind. Instead, he started clawing at John's jacket, seeming like he wanted to tear the woman apart.

"Maybe I should go get some gloves." The woman suggested.

"That seems like a good id—ahh!" The puppy tore himself away from John and jumped onto the desk, sending an array of papers flying.

"Oh my—!" The woman was cut off by the puppy pouncing on her, clinging on to her baggy shirt with his claws.

"Holy shit!" John frantically reached over, trying to pull the animal off her, but to his shock, he bit him on the hand.

"Get him off!" The woman screamed. "Get him…" She froze when the puppy clawed up her chest and sunk his teeth into her ear, ripping it off with ease. The severed ear fell to the tiled floor, however the woman did not bleed.

"A shifter!" Dean and John shouted at the same time. And before you could say "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious", John had his gun out, loaded with silver bullets, and shot the monster about five times in the face.

There was a stunned silence as the creature fell to the floor. Both Winchesters were panting, eyes wide, hearts pounding violently in their chests. A shapeshifter had been here all along and they hadn't even _known _about it. They could've been goners if it hadn't been for…

"Dad…d-do you th-think…?"

"Dean…I don't know _what_ the hell to think." The puppy, seemingly satisfied by his own accomplishment, trotted up to John and licked his boots.

"A new…pound, then?" Dean sighed. However, his father wasn't responding to him. "Dad? Are we gonna'—?"

"Hell no, Dean." John picked up the animal, feeling slightly defeated, but at the same time, slightly triumphant. "We're keepin' this guy."

"Really?!" Dean was aghast, but after the shock faded, a joyful feeling bubbled up within him.

"Well, unless _you_ can sniff out a shifter without any evidence or clues, I think it'd be stupid _not_ to keep 'im." John replied gruffly, making a face when the puppy licked underneath his chin.

"So…I can give him to Sammy?" Dean's green eyes were alight with hope.

"I 'spose so." John grinned. "As long as I get to take it hunting."

…

_December 24__th_

…

"_Chess-nuts roasting on an open fiiiire! Jack frost nipping at your toes…"_

"It's…" Dean interrupted Sam's singing, preparing to say something along the lines of "_It's __nose__, dipshit"_. Yet, Sammy's wide curious eyes made Dean feel guilty for barging in on Sam's happy little world as he ate Spaghetti-Os for his Christmas dinner. "N-Never mind, Sammy."

"Oh…okay…" Sam grinned at his brother and finished off his meal, tossing the little plastic container in the trashcan and placing his fork in the sink. He then turned around slowly, cocking his head as if he were listening carefully for something. "Dean? Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Dean stiffened. He knew John was keeping the puppy in his room to keep him hidden from Sam until Christmas and he thought the plan was foolproof. He never anticipated Sammy getting suspicious.

"It sounded like…" Sam crinkled his brow in an inquisitive manner. "A…_dog."_

"Umm…" Dean gulped. "I-I…think the people next door have a Pomeranian or somethin'."

"Oh." Sam shrugged. "Okay." He then brightened. "Oh no! I almost forgot!"

"Forgot wh—?" But before Dean could finish, Sam had rushed out in a frenzy of excitement. "Dork."

Within moments, Sam had returned with a pillowcase. "C'mon, Dean!" The youngest Winchester grabbed his older brother by the arm and dragged him in the living room.

John, who was seated on the sofa, leafing through newspapers, lifted his head up to laugh. "Dean? Don't tell me your baby brother's gettin' to be too much to handle!"

"He's…not!" Dean yanked his arm away from Sam, scowling. "I could knock 'im out any day!"

"Deeean!" Sam tugged at his brother's t-shirt. "Loook!" The boy started digging around in his bag, pulling out a sock with the name "Dean" printed neatly in green magic marker. It was actually a very old sock of John's that Sam had decorated with plastic stars, red sequins, and gold glitter-glue.

"Umm…Sam?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "What in the _hell_ is that?"

"It's your stocking, Dean!" Sam rolled his eyes playfully and pulled out a roll of scotch tape, sticking the sock over the fireplace with a piece of it.

"Sam…" John opened his mouth to protest. Who was going to _fill_ these stockings anyway? Certainly Sam couldn't expect him to go out _now_ and buy cheap toys and candy!

"Don't worry, Dad!" Sam pulled out a similar sock with "John" printed at the top in favor of Dean's name. "I made you one too!" Sam put this stocking up as well. "And here's mine!" The youngest Winchester produced his own stocking, adorned with cotton ball snowmen and foam snowflakes. He gazed at it proudly before sticking it up on the mantle, right beside his brother's.

"Sammy?" John cleared his throat. "Why…er…why are you putting my athletic socks over the fireplace?"

"Santa's gonna' fill 'em, Dad!" Sam answered his father's inquiry as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Sam…" John groaned. "Please…"

"He's comin'!" Sam assured him, as if that was John's actual concern. "I'm leavin' him cookies!" Sam trotted into the kitchen, coming back minutes later with a pile of Oreos on a paper plate and a glass of milk. He placed his offerings on the coffee table with gusto, beaming at his family members triumphantly.

"Is that the low fat milk?" Dean quipped, earning himself a glare from John.

"It's two-percent." Sam replied simply, not getting the joke. "But we better get to bed! He won't come if we're awake!"

"Actually…I might need to step out for a little while…" John coughed in his hand awkwardly.

"But _Dad!_" Sam gasped in horror. "If you're not here, Santa Claus won't come and then I'll never get that art kit and world peace!"

"_He expects to get a fancy art kit and friggin' world peace?!"_ John's head was spinning. Did this kid really expect to get all that? How could John Winchester, with the little money he earned from credit card scams, be a suitable Santa Claus for his deprived little boy?

"Alright, Sam." John stood, stretching. "Let's all go to bed so we don't let Santa pass us by." Of course he was lying through his teeth and of course he was going to stop by the 7/11 the minute his boys went to sleep so he could buy some M&Ms and candy canes to fill up the stupid socks.

"Yay!" Sam grinned broadly, grabbing poor Dean again and pulling him along. "Let's go to bed, Dean!" The two disappeared, leaving John by himself to worry and brood.

"I am so screwed." John moaned, clutching his forehead. "_So_ screwed."

_**A.N. Dun-Dun-DUN! Sorry that it's not over yet…but I promise…27**__**th**__**…my Christmas…the day before I turn 16…I will finish this. **_


End file.
